To the fence
Comes a mass—muscle.

    Evening falling red
    Unto purple fields,
    Of black trees, from blue roads.

Symbol of your own death,
Walk together in your parts :

    Veil of flies over
    Bloodless whithers—
    Slave of kings and broken men.

    For some other’s sake,
    To make a new self of

The self. In orange burning out,
    A contrail, a comet.
In the blue become black,

    A train glides on wheat.

How am I you, and you, me?
In the paddock of the moon,

         In his glowing house,

         Your owner loads his rifle.

I gave you oats from my pocket,
You give me a door in the field.