I saw the hawk ride updraft in the
sunset over Wyoming.
It rose from coniferous darkness, past gray
jags
Of mercilessness,
Why merciless? What's the hawk's job? To hunt and kill.
It knows it will accept the mortal
limit,
And swing into the great circular downwardness
that will restore
The breath of earth?
Notice the enjamment here. And what, again, is enjamment?
It's a sentence that runs over to the next line. So what is the mortal
limit? It's how high the hawk can fly before it has to start back downward.
Of rock? Of rot? Of other such
Items, and the darkness of whatever dream
we clutch?
So when will it come down to the normal, everyday world that we inhabit?
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