A WALK IN THE WOODS

It was not easy
making my way through the woods,
There were so many dead soldiers.

It was not, as you may believe,
A horrible scene.
Like restless sleepers,
They lay every possible way.

The blood-flush still lit them.

It meant nothing,
They had been there so long.
I knew they were dead, empty houses.
Their eyes were open, and yet
Were like boarded up windows,

And from their noses and mouths,
No small smokes rose,
As from a chimney will rise and curl
And loose itself in the air.

I saw all their houses.
There was not one that I wanted.

Beyond the hills,
The valley was brimming with bones
And I went there
Looking for the one I could play like a flute.

Of course, it was futile
But the rumors persisted,
as did those who swore
They had gone and come back.

I found a bone and played it.
In the wood, the soldiers awoke.
Their vows! Their wild promises!
When they marched by me,
The ground shook.
When they sang, the clouds paused,
Their song was so lovely.

When I cried, they forsook me.
I did not know the dead
Would not tolerate tears.

They marched out of sight.
Such camaraderie! Such innocence!
For a time I was lost,
But in the valley of bones

The long bone of my arm
Became a flute to the windþs voice,

There in the deep frozen winter,
In the blue light,

And I saw
Cold was a fine thing.
There was no music more pure.

What strikes fear here
Is the sight of ice as it melts,
Drop by drop, and each
Before falling, so beautiful,

The tiny glass apples of winter.
If a parched tongue
Could come here for its thirst!

Already,
I feel the sharp blades of grass
Stirring in their deep sheaths,

I feel my flesh returning.
Inexorable soldier,
The sun is moving against this army of bones,

Is setting his tent up above us,
And the bones
Sing sorrow and sorrow.
Wherever they are,
The soldiers look over their shoulders at me,
Bitter,

And the wind plays the notes
Of my rib cage, singing,
You will be buried in flesh,

And above, the sun's loud pouding,
The great, golden heart in the sky.