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...IN A MYRTLE SHADE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE SUGAR-PLUM TREE by EUGENE FIELD THE BLUE AND THE GRAY by FRANCIS MILES FINCH ON THE EMIGRATION TO AMERICA AND PEOPLING WESTERN COUNTRY by PHILIP FRENEAU VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1883 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE BIRTH SONG OF CHRIST by EDMUND HAMILTON SEARS |