Poems of Shape and Motion

I was wondering if I could shape this passion

Just as I wanted in solid fire.

I was wondering if the strange combustion of my days

The tension of the world inside of me

And the strength of my heart were enough.

I was wondering if I could stand as tall,

While the tide of the sea rose and fell.

If the sky would recede as I went,

Or the earth would emerge as I came

To the door of the morning, locked against the sun.

I was wondering if I could make myself

Nothing but fire, pure and incorruptible.

The wound of the wind on my face

Would be healed by the work of my life

Or the growth of the pain in my sleep

Would be stopped in the strife of my days.

I am wondering if the agony of years

Could be traced to the seed of an hour.

If the roots that spread out in the swamp

Ran too deep for the issuing flower.

I was wondering if I could find myself

All that I am in all that I could be.

If all the population of stars

Would be less than the things I could utter

And the challenge of space in my soul

Be filled by the shape I become.

I walk slowly in the wind,

Watching myself in things I did not make;

In jumping shadows and in limping cripples

Dust on earth and houses tight with sickness

Deep constant pain, the dream without sleep.

I walk slowly in the wind,

Hearing myself in the loneliness of a child

In woman's grief, which is not understood

In coughing dogs when midnight lingers long

On stones, on streets and then on echoing stars,

That burn all night and suddenly go out.

I walk slowly in the wind

Knowing myself in every moving thing

In years and days and words that mean so much

Strong hands that shake, long roads that walk

And deeds that do themselves.

And all this world and all these lives to live.

I walk slowly in the wind,

Remembering scorn and naked men in darkness

And huts of iron rivetted to earth.

Cold huts of iron stand upon this earth

Like rusting prisons

Each is well marked and each wide roof is spread

Like some dark wing

Casting a shadow or living a curse.

I walk slowly in the wind

To lifted sunset red and gold and dim

A long brown river slanting to an ocean

A fishing boat, a man who cannot drown.

I walk slowly in the wind

And birds are swift, the sky is blue like silk.

From the big sweeping ocean of water

An iron ship rusted and brown achors itself.

And the long river runs like a snake

Silent and smooth.

I walk slowly in the wind.

I hear my footsteps echoing down the tide

Echoing like a wave on the sand or a wing on the wind

Echoing echoing

A voice in the soul, a laugh in the funny silence.

I walk slowly in the wind

I walk because I cannot crawl or fly.