THE TIES THAT BIND
The morning after you left I drew
the curtains on the seven-acre field.
Two hares were bowling through the stubble,
wind-blown, skidding like broken wheels.
They danced and sprung apart and danced again
and then were gone, beyond the tidemark
of the tree line. Then a mob of seagulls
swung downwind from the west, scattered,
gathered again in a brawl of wings and then
were gone, into a bleak neutrality
of towering clouds. Love or combat, the wind
blew them into the world and out again,
these dancers, bound only to the end
of their measures and not beyond.
From my first collection ANCIENT LIGHTS.