I see him moving, in his legendary fleece, Between the superhighway and an Algonquin stone axe; Between the wild tribes, in their lost heat, And the dark blizzard of my Grandfather's coat; Cold with the outdoor cold caught in the curls, Smelling of the world before the poll tax. And between the new macadam and the Scalp Act They got him by the short hair; had him clipped Who once was wild -- and all five senses wild -- Printing the wild with his hoof's inflated script Before the times was money in the bank, Before it was a crime to be so mild. But history is a fact, and moves on feet Sharper than his, toward wallows deeper than. And the myth that covered all his moving parts, Grandfather's time had turned into a coat; And what kept warm then, in the true world's cold Is old and cold in a world his death began. 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...IN HOSPITAL: 3. INTERIOR by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY TO A GARDEN IN APRIL by WALTER CONRAD ARENSBERG THE STEAM-ENGINE: CANTO 6. ON THE CORK PACKET, 1837 by T. BAKER WE WALKED AMONG THE WHISPERING PINES by JOHN HENRY BONER THE VOICE OF AUTUMN by WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT |