Unbind my hair, she says. The night is white and warm, the snow on the mountains absorbing the moon. We have to get there before the music begins, scattered, elliptical, needing to be drawn together and sung. They have dark green voices and listening, there are birds, coal shovels, the glazed hysteria of the soon-to-be-dead. I suspect Jesus @3will@1 return and the surprise will be fatal. I'll ride the equator on a whale, a giraffe on land. Even stone when inscribed bears the ecstatic. Pressed to some new wall, ungiving, the screams become thinner. Let us have the tambourine and guitars and forests, fruit, and a new sun to guide us, a holy book, tracked in new blood. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BRER RABBIT, YOU'S DE CUTES' OF 'EM ALL by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE BARBER'S by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE DEPARTURE OF THE GOOD DAEMON by ROBERT HERRICK THE BANNER OF THE JEW by EMMA LAZARUS THE BRAES OF YARROW by JOHN LOGAN (1748-1788) GRIN by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE |