The Poet Man

The Poet Man


Black woods behind the old house,

In front a sloping field of oats;

Above a cloud curves in soft sky

like a silver ball, centered

against the cloud, beating with

Severe, painful clarity...,


The wing of the wounded swan

Below on the old wooden balcony

A youg man with white hair

his face the enigma of time


like a portrait in an old medallion

he narrows the oblique eyes

Warmed by the ;ight Wolcott sun

hammered by the heavy light sun


Hammered vy the storms

poet who writes the hearts dialogue

behind the house the woods grow into night

And wild oats by crazed in dream...


Unknown until this time,

He has become a knowledge of the heart