Classic Poem

O ancient image,
by what strange power
you bind me
to the light
of a small
metaphysical lamp,
to the light
of the swarming city,
and restore
my ancient relation
to words,
in which I have set
my hope,
those that are born
magistrates
or old oak,
a test
of attention and integrity,
or incline
to contemplation,
those that
are virtuous
like Medussa
in their heads
and some
in their bleeding,
and those that
are simplest
like horse and
plow
and remain
incorruptible

We have a pact.
Nevertheless infinity drones.
Leave me for a while
I'll go with Erasmus the Labrador
to his favorite tree
to sniff for gonads.

" Anyone I know?
That crazy Afghan again,
the one I romped with.

Mmmm, lamb bone!

Trot home now,
family waiting. "

Lights out.
Retired, all.

Around and around
three times
he follows his tail,
then lowers himself
and sighs and curls up
at the center,
the day's work done.
Has licked man's face
and falls asleep
under his foot,
the loyal eyes
closed

Now where,
ancient spirit?

To a potato patch,
once the lot of man
when it was said,
" a clean bowel,
a clean head "
and cockleburr
and wild hemp
of the fields.
There, distant, a
black Angus,
restorer, restorer
of the ancient
relation
in whose presence
man
again is steady,
single.