I keep seeing/landscapes
in the brain
(the gift’s been driven in
that keen.)
I keep fearing/stars
inside the skull
(the wound’s
that beautiful.)
I waken to the heartbeat
in the vein
that round
the mind
is wound
and hear the rushing in of rain
into the soul’s receiving ground.
***
With fire are the strict stars slain.
***
I tell you as the arrow’s clean;
I tell you as the heart is plain,
so will the soul endure/hold green
the shafts of song—
the dark Orphic shine.
The shots are called,
I call the shots my own.
Editor’s note: “Archer” was originally published in 31 New American Poets edited by Ron Schreiber (Hill and Wang, 1969).