Black paths clod to the black road,
rain palisades, shadows of the wasted deer
on the farm hills cleared, pure birds
of the black moon I found walking
to meet you among the dying corn.
The night world in your body of earth
beside the river obscure,
moon, be your lantern and mine,
my hands touch the ground at the watershed,
a song from the root of your tongue,
the love we become,
wild for the fleeting rags we sleep.