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More poems by Philip LevinePhilip Levine | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Philip LevineBooks by Philip Levine

The End Of Your Life

Philip Levine

First light. This misted field 
    is the world, that man 
        slipping the greased bolt 

back and forth, that man 
    tunneled with blood 
        the dark smudges of whose eyes 

call for sleep, calls 
    for quiet, and the woman 
        down your line, 

the woman who screamed the loudest, 
    will be quiet. 
        The rushes, the grassless shale, 

the dust, whiten like droppings. 
    One blue 
        grape hyacinth whistles 

in the thin and birdless air 
    without breath. 
        Ten minutes later 

a lost dog poked 
    for rabbits, the stones 
        slipped, a single blade 

of grass stiffened in sun; 
    where the wall 
        broke a twisted fig 

thrust its arms ahead 
    like a man 
        in full light blinded. 

In the full light the field 
    your eyes held 
        became grain by grain 

the slope of father mountain, 
    one stone of earth 
        set in the perfect blackness.

Added: 25 Feb 2002 | Last Read: 23 Jul 2018 4:09 AM | Viewed: 4635 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2936/ | Viewed on 23 July 2018.
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