The Warm and the Cold

Freezing dusk is closing    Like a slow trap of

On trees and roads and hills and all    That can no longer feel.        But the carp is in its depth          Like a planet in its heaven.        And the badger in its bedding          Like a loaf in the oven.        And the butterfly in its mummy          Like a viol in its case.        And the owl in its feathers          Like a doll in its lace.

Freezing dusk has tightened    Like a nut screwed

On the starry aeroplane    Of the soaring night.        But the trout is in its hole          Like a chuckle in a sleeper.        The hare strays down the highway          Like a root going deeper.        The snail is dry in the outhouse          Like a seed in a sunflower.        The owl is pale on the gatepost          Like a clock on its tower.

Moonlight freezes the shaggy world    Like a mammoth of ice - The past and the future    Are the jaws of a steel vice.        But the cod is in the tide-rip          Like a key in a purse.        The deer are on the bare-blown hill          Like smiles on a nurse.        The flies are behind the plaster          Like the lost score of a jig.        Sparrows are in the ivy-clump          Like money in a pig.

Such a frost    The flimsy moon        Has lost her wits.           A star falls.

The sweating farmers    Turn in their sleep        Like oxen on spits.