from Chanting at the Crystal Sea

All male Quincys are now dead, excepting one. John Wheelwright, “Gestures to the Dead” 1 Vast oblong space dwindled to one solitary rock. On it I saw a heap of hay impressed with the form of a man. Beleaguered Captain Stork with his cane on some quixotic skirmish. Deserters arrived from Fort Necessity All hope was gone. Howe carrying a white flag of truce went toward the water. 2 An Apostle in white stood on a pavement of scarlet Around him stretched in deep sleep lay the dark forms of warriors. He was turned away gazing on a wide waste. His cry of alarm astonished everyone. 3 A Council of War in battle array after some siege. I ran to them shouting as I ran “Victory!” Night closed in weedy with flies. The Moon slid between moaning pines and tangled vines. 4 Neutrals collected bones or journeyed behind on foot shouting at invisible doors to open. There were guards who approached stealthy as linxes Always fresh footprints in the forest We closed a chasm then trod the ground firm I carried your name like a huge shield. 5 Because dreams were oracles agile as wild-cats we leapt on a raft of ice. Children began a wail of despair we carried them on our shoulders. A wave thrust our raft of ice against a northern shore. An Indian trail led through wood and thicket Light broke on the forest The hostile town was close at hand. We screamed our war-cry and rushed in. 6 It was Him Power of the Clouds Judge of the Dead The sheep on his right The goats on his left And all the angels. But from the book backward on their knees crawled neolithic adventurers known only to themselves. They blazed with artifice no pin, or kernel, or grain too small to pick up. A baby with a broken face lay on the leaves Hannibal—a rough looking man rushed by with a bundle of sticks. “Ah, this is fortunate,” cried Forebear and helped himself to me. 7 God is an animal figure Clearly headless. He bewitches his quarry with ambiguous wounds The wolf or poor ass had only stolen straw. O sullen Silence Nail two sticks together and tell resurrection stories. 8 There on the deck, child in her arms was the girl I had been before She waved then threw her child to me and jumped But she missed the edge and swirled away. I left you in a group of grownup children and went in search wandered sandhills snowy nights calling “Mother, Father” A Dauphin sat down to dine on dust alone in his field of wheat One war-whoop toppled a State. I thought we were in the right country but the mountains were gone. We saw five or six people coming toward us who were savages. Alhough my pen was leaky as a sieve I scribbled “Arm, Arm!” “Ear.” Barked the Moon. We paddled with hands, planks, and a pencil “Listen—The people surrender” I don’t remember the rest but it was beautiful. We were led ashore by Captain Snow “I’ll meet you soon—” he said and vanished in the fog. 9 We cooked trout and perch on forked sticks. Fire crackled in the forest stillness Fire forms stood out against the gloom Ancient trunks with wens and deformities Moss bearded ancients—and thin saplings The strong, the weak, the old, the young— Now and then some sleeper would get up Warm her hands at the fire and listen to the whisper of a leaf or the footfall of an animal I kept my gun-match burning when it rained— 10 Holding hands with my skin I walked the wintry strand. “Tickle yourself with my stroke” ticked the wiseacre clock. The river sang— “Pelucid dark and deep my waters— come and cross me alone.” The final ruins ahead revealed two figures timidly engraved on one another. 11 I built a house that faced the east I never ventured west for fear of murder. Eternity dawned. Solitary watcher of what rose and set I saw only a Golgotha of corpses. 12 Experience teaches the savage revenge an enemy always takes on forerunners who follow. You were a little army of unarmed children— A newborn infant sat in the hollow of my pillow. 13 The house was a model of harmony. Children coiled like hedgehogs or lay on their backs. A doll uttered mysterious oracles “Put on the kettle.” “Get up and go home.” The clock was alive I asked what it ate. “A Cross large enough to crucify us all.” and so on. Blankets congealed into icicles We practiced trips, falls, dives into snowdrifts. With a snowshoe for a shovel I opened the clock and we searched for peace in its deep and private present. Outside, the world swarmed with sorcerers.