Classic Poem

there are many ways now of being a young man
not so simple as ploughing a field
spading a black patch
strung thick with earthworms
or making love
a procession of lace handkerchiefs
swept up from lawns
floors
checkerboards

I would be finding a new way
to bend water making a fan of it
to chill the desert
brand cattle break horses with
the pulse of the knee
Spring nights would catch me
horning new timber down salmon-rivers
my breath at lonely corners linger all night
with whiskey-singing
sun cracking whips upon my skin of hard man
speech running sweet
raw
high