Through baffled bogs, disengaged mountaintops,
I led whistling rocks, croaking ice
till earth turned its blue eye upward.
I drew cream grass from the ground,
graphite cliffs from the sea,
and all the time, slaking the thirst of rivers,
ran rigid fields amok.
I laughed a stampede of one-legged herons,
cried chains of crocodiles,
roared bees;
and balancing on a lake-shore,
threw myself to the
winds
to fly with them like rain.
