Sing in me (II)
poem
No more of your
Blandishments and fruits
drawn crooked off the vine –
I have set out to make
verses, and damn you if they rhyme;
I have done with fetching thoughts
and ifs, and mights;
with pens, unless they write;
with restless hands and crow’s bright eyes
for I have tangled up my brains
this time and more
all in the winding of your dreams.
Half-awake I went
out to the garden and there saw
a dozen black ants taking wing;
they crawled up to the brink and then turned back
ten times; they fought and turned again:
Unthinkingly they flew
in half an instant, all as if
they knew themselves
suddenly, and thought no more.
This is beautiful, Iris.
"Unthinkingly they flew
in half an instant, all as if
they knew themselves
suddenly, and thought no more."