By James Dickey
Poems that marked a brand new path for a grasp poet
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Extra info for The Eagle's Mile
Ultimately sparkling, he's grayer, Unshaven as I. we're either previous males Or approximately. he's blameless. but: What fathers are ready to be born yet myself, whom the good friend watches With blessed directness? No different guy yet a employee With an injured eyeball; his face have been there whilst a part of an engine flew up. A tall nurse blotted with ink And blood is going via. whatever written On her? Blood of my spouse? a physician with a blanket Comes around a blind nook. “Who will get this little lady? ” I peer into wool: a creature just a little surprisingly greater than purple. Dipped in hearth. not anyone speaks. The good friend doesn't stir; he's blameless back: the kid is among Me and the guy with one eye. We conflict within the air, Three-eyed, over the new-born. The healthcare professional says, “All correct, now. Which one among you had a breech child? ” throughout i glance: examine the potential Wounded father. He might be wasting: he opens his undesirable eye. I half-close one in every of mine, hoping to win Or support. Breech child. I don’t comprehend. I inform my identify. Taking the healthcare professional through his fingers round her, the kid of fireside strikes off. i'd provide one eye for her Already. If she’s no longer mine I’ll scouse borrow her. The physician comes again. The pal stirs; either our beards Quicken: the health practitioner is status Over me, asserting, “This one’s yours. ” it really is performed: I set my ft In Heavenly strength, and wake up. in preference to plastic, manned rubber And incorrect mild, I say wordlessly Roll, genuine God. Roll via us. I shake palms With the one-eyed guy. He has now not won a baby, yet could come again his eye; i'm hoping it is going to go back by means of summer time starlight. the kid virtually surroundings Its wool on hearth, I carry it within the first and final energy It got here from: that is going on forever there's, shunting the glacier, whirling entire forests from their tops, relocating Lava, the flowing stone: relocating the hand Of an individual, ever. baby of fireplace, search for. search for as I lean and mumble you're half Of flowing stone: comprehend: you're a part of the wave, Of the glacier’s irrevocable Millennial inch. “This is the one,” the good friend repeats In his end-of-it daze, his beard long gone approximately silver, now, with honor, within the all-night evening Of early morning. Godfather, I say To him: no longer father of God, yet assistant Father to this one. All forests are relocating, all waves, All lava and ice. I lean. I contact One finger. actual God, roll. Roll. The Olympian la back-yarding in its blue-eyed waters Of empty swim, via my tract-house of packaged hard-candy I lay in wait with the sunlight And star beer for the Olympian, Now my oldest boy’s junior highschool algebra instructor, who had introduced again the black-magic gold Of the East, down the quick lane, Freewaying, superhuman with rubberized home-stretch, The 400 meters from Tokyo To Balboa street, leaving in his wake everywhere in the earth, the Others, the nation-motley doom-striped ones, these heart-eating sprinters, these Losers. With Olympia Beer i used to be warming Warming up with the easiest sit back waters Of the West Coast, cascading unending Down out of Washington kingdom.
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