So much light and there is darkness.
So much metal and stone, the nations
whirling in dustclouds, horses and horsemen
In the city glare ours
is a light that goes out. Too much alone
there are days the mind backs up
In the squared land to the west I saw
how we denied the gatherings of water,
reading the earth and the connections
The plains are forever, the sky is,
where the bombers ride on the skull,
the land’s people grains of rice on a map
To be sought out, to become splashes of blood
and burnings, to be counted in numbers,
and nothing to add to this nothing
Nothing to add to the wheat
and the separate voices: power
to the lifting blades of the grass