Morning

Morning found me sleeping like a dead man
(Dew-covered, inert-looking white body
Lying outstretched as under hemlock’s ban
– eyelashes shivering under the breeze –)
The dawning sun rising from lethe-argy
Slowly bathing every limb off its lease.

Morning found two fresh wounds on my left side
Out of which my blood trickled patiently,
As threads of mist were swamping the valeside
As ominous birds streaked the scenery,
Out of which water sprung as from a well
But sleeping was I as under a spell.

Remapping my skin blood and water were
– The breeze generously stroking my hand
With a red and yellow leaf – to suffer
Was not my appointed lot, but the end
– The real end – would be when it would stop
Seed-time is gone…Scythe! Now wail for the crop!

Morning left me sleeping like a dead man
The ground soaking up both blood and water
My ope eyes mirroring the skies of men
– My upturned fingertips seemingly set –
My hair flowing freely on my shoulder
I feel, I feel!...it is not over yet.