In Danger From the Outer World

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In Danger from the Outer World

This burning in the eyes,
as we open doors,
This is only the body burdened down
with leaves,
The opaque flesh, heavy
as November grass,
Growing stubbornly, triumphant
even at midnight.

And another day disappears
into the cliff,
And the Eskimos come to greet it
with sharp cries--
The black water swells up
over the new hole.
The grave moves forward
from its ambush,

Moving over the hills on black feet,
Living off the country,
Leaving dogs and sheep murdered
where it slept;
Some shining thing, inside,
that has served us well

Shakes its bamboo bars--
It may be gone before we wake . . .

Robert Bly

Posted over on Fat Poetry Book