untitled poem

O how I know them
how I've walked
on the snow
to touch their wings
and name them

snowblind
and stuttering
but warm all over
in the lion's love
the lion's roar

the city crumbled
but the well  remained
and sometimes strange beggars
and slim-waisted girls
moved there under the moon

I've felt all forsaken
alone and afraid
in a way
the pilgrim's pain
his question mark

in strange furious clamour
contented I lay
in wild wond'rous bliss
the eye of the storm
is a pillow again



1969.