the high pasture
TRANSCRIPT
The High PastureAuthor(s): Donald HallSource: The Iowa Review, Vol. 2, No. 1 (Winter, 1971), p. 124Published by: University of IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20157688 .
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Donald Hall
THE BEAUTY
Your small curved thighs billow, a sail
of summer days. My hand follows the delicate swell.
You are an airplane.
You run at the air lifting yourself,
uncertain if you will fly but sure that you are beautiful.
Yellow cat in the sun.
When you take me in
there is a sigh from your skin
and we rise from the grass together.
THE HIGH PASTURE
I am the hounds,
I am the fox.
I wake reassembling torn muscle and fur
to run again
over raw fields
to a corner of stone.
I twitch
awake with the crazy
intolerable scent
of me in my nostrils.
Yet I am also the leaf
that breathes slowly in sun
by the wooden bridge
at the end of the pond in the high pasture.
124
This content downloaded from 195.34.79.228 on Sun, 15 Jun 2014 02:20:26 AMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions