THE GREY GLAS SONG

I am the cold watery current of the air,
I am the wreathing hand of mists,
I am the many-windowed firmament,
I am the coloured winds on the cloth of night,
I am the cloudy shell around the earth,
I am the four chief winds of creation,
I am the speckled winds riding the world,
I am the beaked-boat emerging at dawn,
I am the eight encircling servant winds,
I am a thousand lamps breaking in the wave,
I am the weight of a waterfall from a cliff,
I am the red plain of the earth at sunset,
I am the spear thrust of streams from a hill,
I am the lake bursting forth upon the plain,
I am the tall stones circled for strong memory.
Who counts the stars at the well's bottom?
Who is it follows the sun in his circuit?
Who is it keeps the sun fixed on his path?
Who thrice blesses the tides lifting and falling?
Who welcomes the morning of grey dews
knows fiery arrows pierce the breast for vision.
The poet's breath empties up into the night
who calls his answer across deep waves.

© Stephen Oliver
(from the Ms. Either Side The Horizon)

© Steven Oliver