Way into the Desert

She is led into the desert
And with her
The surrounding casement.

A journey irom the plains
Where time is held like dust
ln hands with long lingers;

Through the cleaved mountains
By the white water
Converging in the return

To the shimmering land
Where the iridescent images
Pass beyond reflection.

Seeking the remains
or the light’s first blaze,
The smoke that ascends

Tn enlighten the shadows;
The casting oi darkness
Into the between.

The discovery oi silence!
Penetrating to the mind
The shy hummingbird -

Leading to the moon ﬂower,
Awakening, spawning
Once in the night,

There, away trom the
Dividing way at
All man’s necessity,

The awesomeness of
Unmarked expanse —
Rays from the sepaled womb.

She finds herself unknown
The desert way enveloping

Expanding Spring

Under the approaching sun

I stretch my body flat

on the poking grass; blades

cut through my shirt to duel

with fawning hairs failing

in the deiense or my skin.

1 eye this grass, the green shoots

above their fallen yellow comrades;

I hear things creeping up on me

outside my vision, with mullled feet

weaving their way through the grass—-

the leaves are coming

to count coup on my body!

Brown, brittle, broken in by hand.
Reading poetry,

Han-Shah‘s way on Cold Mountain:

ﬂies begin to battle in the field

between my eyes and the page.

Filled with the energy of spring

they sputter ludly ﬂying in circles

banking on my face; my separating

hand makes our acquaintance shortrllved.

metaphor

The perennial poet has one curse:
He tucks, then goes
From bed
T0 Verse,
she Orlngel

Traces oi her coming, her going.

And he who sought her

To the Editors:

Down in a hollow
the cardinal announces his presence With
a lingering whistle from atop a dying elm;
meadowlarks prance along the knoll
stopping to cook their heads back,
expand their yellow breasts
and cordle hosannas to god knows. . .
My cousin crows bray their dark
iorbearance an all as they wander
by high in the airstreams, but the swallows
zoom Without sound tight to the ground
banking with a dip ot a wing by my head.

Sitting up to listen
and to Watch: a small blond dog
placidly approaches. He makes my legs
his brace as he rests, he pants heavily,
his long tongue extended, drying.
He enjoys being iondled, as I enjoy iondling
and we exchange remarks. I ask an
age old question: “Have you the
Buddha nature?” He plays the tool,
ignores my unknowing query.
He too hears the cardinal, the red
sound or the whistling, his ears no longer relaxed,
he trots placidly down into the hollow.

The (lies return
to dance in the rhythm oi my eyes;
I make my peace with the grass laying
down arms; under the approaching sun
I stretch my body tlat.

S. T. Wellman

WANTED: Poems, storles, es-
says, trash. Please donate to
one Scarlet and Black, Forum
basement 114, for incluslon in
Literary Supplement next 15*
sue. Reward’ Your name in

problem. Maybe LEAP can be COH-

On the unswerving path
Found only dry heat, burnt lire.

He returns to the highway
Thumbing across inhospitable
Lands of noiselessness

To catch a ride through
The Wasatch mountains
With a Mormon truck driver,

who tells the wanderer
Oi the wild horses
That still roam the plateaus.
Si T, Wellmnn

In response to your advertisement
in last Friday’s sails; I am taking
the liberty of sending you the at»
tached bag which represents one
week's worth at paper trash from
my room. It you could use old or—
ange peels, empty tin cans, or soda
pop bottles; please request these»
l’ll be more than happy to send them
along to you. (But l didn’t want this
bag to leak.)

Let me add that I commend you
[or this imaginative solution to the
campus trash and waste-disposal

vinced to recycle all campus trash
to your trout door. It this is not
possible, a direct line to the Snga
waste-disposal units may serve your
purpose. Anyway, it is encouraging
to know that this year’s SllB edi-
tors are concerned with this Vital
issue.

Robert A. Huxtable

n.3,: It you can use any ol the
enclosed contents for your liter—
ary supplement, please {eel free to
do so.

 

