In the salt warp
was the plasma,
in the springhead
and the sulphurous water

Jupiter the sire hawk
flew through Athens.
Then the Greeks sang
and the wings turned
through the light

We sat upon a stone
with happy records,
shipping kelp and sulphur
through the islands.

Athens was a hawk

And Corinth was once
a pedestal for wrestlers
in classical shorts
What method in their manner!

Shall we say the gods
with lights behind us
have broken wind
in a changing system?

Yesterday behind the olive boughs
they seemed so lucid!

Send us again, O gods,
peppers and poppyseed,
porphyry and white cocks.
After a thousand years,
behold
the apple blossoms of the new world:
the early grapes;
the young man's cartograph
on which appears an arrow
pointed north to heaven.
There the gentle still idealize,
the heart is lighter
and the Cross attends.

But we pass obscurely
from post to sleep,
opening the constructions
of the virtuous and loghouse
Puritans of Massachusetts.
They planted radishes
and hailed the Savior
spreading his alarming
feathers over the pickets.

A country house in April
after a thousand years:
poor headpiece,
you are unhappy.
Buy yourself some alcohol for winter
and a squirrel rifle
for Sunday morning.
You too will juggle
rabbits, eggs, bananas,
physical and resolute.

Tumblers in the nebula,
is not every man