It isn't such a bad thing, To live in one world forever. You could do a lot worse: The sexual smell of fresh-cut alfalfa Could well be missing somewhere. Somewhere you'd give in to some impetuous unknown, And then stand guilty, as accused, of self-love. It's better not to take such risks. It's not as if we had no angels: A handful remained when the rest moved on. Now they work for a living, As windmills on the open range. They spin and stare like catatonics, Nod toward the bedridden peaks. They've learned their own angelic disbelief. The mountains still breathe, I suppose, Though barely. The prairie still swells under a few small churches. They are like rowboats after the ship's gone down. Everyone knows whom the saved envy. Runoff mirrors the sky in alpine pastures; Imagine how quickly one's tracks unbloom there. This world isn't such a bad world. At least the angels are gainfully employed: They know where the water is, What to do with wind. I try not to think of those others, Like so many brides, So many owls made of pollen Wintering in a stand of imaginary timber. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPICOENE; OR, THE SILENT WOMAN: FREEDOM IN DRESS by BEN JONSON LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN by JOHN KEATS TWILIGHT AT SEA by AMELIA B. WELBY PENITENTIAL PSALM by THOMAS WYATT PASTEL by MARSDON GILFORD ALBRITTON JAMESON'S RIDE by ALFRED AUSTIN |