In the High Northern Meadows
In the high northern meadows; and the iridescent green,
In the light bubbling song; so slowly sung,
In the sharp morning air; and the fragile light,
The white deer walks; and the impossible song
So slowly sung; captures my treacherous heart.
As a young boy I painted my body thick with river-mud,
And ran naked through the secluded hollows,
Allowing the willows and sedges to whip my skinny arms and legs,
My striped feet scattering the frantic snipe;
I hid quietly in the rushes and observed the courtship of birds;
The gentle old-lady head-shaking of grebes,
And the lonesome gothic roding of woodcock,
Riding the forest edge at night;
But it would be many years before I would learn
the chaotic cart-wheeling dance of the lapwing,
And lower my dirty chest to the ground, and raise my rump,
Showing off my bright under-tail coverts, to their best advantage;
In the high northern meadows; and the iridescent green,
In the light bubbling song; so slowly sung,
In the sharp morning air; and the fragile light,
The white deer walks; and the impossible song
So slowly sung; captures my treacherous heart.
