Poem 80: From the West

from the west like Ceasers jaw
the snarling grey wind
has broken our sea
to a screaming chatter of gulls
the land
to a mist of slow falling trees
the sky
to a machine of spinning by wheels
and the rivers too cold
for a lifetime of dreams
like stone
too transparently warm to be
like wood
too shocked still to be another cross
too hard for the lovers back
too soft for the idiots nail
waiting for the palm
of the earths green and blue
and its going down before the sun
and its going down before us
on the roof of the world
uneasily sheltered
by the intellects frosting of facile parts
we face the glass
watching in love the dark
give way to the east
and its bright sons of the morning.