weighting the pale sky with a soldier color.
but they only dissolve and dissolve
like a series of promises, as I step forward.
there is no life higher than the grasstops
or the hearts of sheep, and the wind
pours by like destiny, bending
everything in one direction
i can feel it trying
to funnel my heat away.
if i pay the roots of the heather
too close attention, they will invite me
to whiten my bones among them
black stone, black stone
the sky leans on me, me, the one upright
among all horizontals
the grass is beating its head distractedly.
it is too delicate for a life in such company;
darkness terrifies it
now, in valleys narrow
and black as purses, the house lights
gleam like small change