Magnificently, a sky moved
Across a continent. Green moved
On earth, and sky glided across,
Showing, when it glided, still yellow above.
It was a good continent; it had
The fears of children, the shudders of bees;
The deaths of many things which once
Ran across grass, and in and around flowers.
Face-having continent, all talk is yours.
Sky, you are with all victories.
Grass, you have all hesitations, withdrawals, and considerings.
Continent, take your nothings and make them limbs.
Continent, make white and yellow fly.
Continent, all that's said is yours.
From Hot Afternoons Have Been in Montana: Poems
© 1957 by Eli Siegel