Plainview: I

Plainview: I


There in the hollow of the hills I see,
Eleven magpies stand away from me.

Low light upon the rim; a wind informs
This distance with a gathering of storms

And drifts in silver crescents on the grass,
Configurations that appear, and pass.

There falls a final shadow on the glare,
A stillness on the dark, erratic air.

I do not hear the longer wind that lows
Among the magpies. Silences disclose,

Until no rhythms of unrest remain,
Eleven magpies standing on the plain.

They are illusion—wind and rain revolve–
And they recede in darkness, and dissolve.


By N. Scott Momaday
From In the Presence of the Sun,