This book was written during the war.
And a lot of during the Vietnam War.
And a lot of the poems are deliberately two-edged.
And they were all taken one way, of course.
I want to read one more of them.
This one's called Avoiding News by The River.
As the stars hide in the light before daybreak,
reid warblers hunt along the narrow stream trunk
rise to their shadows.
Milky light flows through the branches fills with blood.
Men will be waking.
In an hour, it will be summer.
I dreamed that the heavens were eating the Earth,
waking it is not so, not the heavens.
I am not ashamed of the wrens murders
of the badgers dinners on which all worldly good depends.
If I were not human, I would not be ashamed of anything.