Flat-footed as a centaur on the cliff
above the forest, watching the slow sweep
of wind through tree tops--like the ocean, deep
and secret, its green mystery--the lift
and settle, like a giant's slumbering breath,
the glass-song rivulets that flow like blood
through granite veins--omnocular I stood,
an Argus; and my woodland shibboleth
rang forth in song over that sleeping wood
I sudden found myself the guardian of.
I longed to stamp my hooves and gallop wild
down precipice into its heart--and would,
but that its breathing soothed me like a child,
and burst my half-animal heart with love.
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