Unseen,
Thick silver needled equilibrium
Of a common thornbush
In the windscape,
Is a kind of flowering.
Or that slender shepherd boy
Stretching on his staff, is not nothing
More than a turban.
For this fine chiseled windblown face
Hunts some softnesses here,
Scars and breaks adversary
And can take affront.
Be not deceived,
Here too
Proud seed has singular purpose,
That foot can kick, that hip
Thrust, that spine
Pin down the interloper;
It is a factor on the landscape.
Slender being,
Inconsequential thorn bush,
Confront millennia
With timeless seed and thorn;
And they will be born again,
again
And again.