Notes for "Mortal Limit" by 
Robert Penn Warren

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?