…With curious hope, with pain I’ve tried to catch what I used to be, …Floating beneath the locust tree At our prairie farm, on a rain-cured plank. ………….I’d sound out clouds, and fly …………….With the birds, swinging so high ………….I kicked the sky
…And it kicked me back. The branch broke And I landed on my shoulder blades and tail, …Fists still gripping still-hitched rope, And I heaved and heaved, the sky opaque.
………….Locust tree, you meant no harm, …………….So I swing here from your other arm, ………….Still your fool, your pendulum.