ISSUE: Summer 1970
Wingbones shattered—feathers
Scattered over the continent—
The four unbroken animal limbs beating
A shadow-wind to keep aloft:
Like a root or falling star he soars,
Descending. The fields
Extending green tenderness to him
Seem sinister. Only
A river’s winding give him
Bearing through soft, lightning-
chasmed Cloud catacombs,
Bending to its herringbones of foam
The moon’s truculent lustre. He falls
Without motion over the original
Hills of waves and is snarled, angel,
By the net of his own breathing.
