Down The Rivers Of The Windfall Light

Nothing I cared,
in the lamb white days,
that time would take me
up to the
swallow-thronged loft
by the shadow of my hand,
in the moon that
is always rising,
nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him
fly with the high fields
and wake to the farm
forever fled from
the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy
in the mercy of his means,
time held me green and dying
though I sang in my chains
like the sea.
--from Fern Hill

Isis Temple from outside Cottonwood Canyon
looking west beyond Slate Canyon
Dylan Thomas reads "Fern Hill"
Hopi Point