Author Robert Duncan The white peacock roosting might have been Christ, featherd robe of Osiris, the radiant bird, a sword-flash, percht in the tree and the other, the fumed-glass slide —were like night and day, the slit of an eye opening in time vertical to the horizon Rate this poem Select ratingGive it 1/5Give it 2/5Give it 3/5Give it 4/5Give it 5/5 No votes yet Rate Log in or register to post comments