Evening Hawk- Poets.org - Poetry, Poems, Bios & More
So does this: “The head of each stalk is heavy with the gold of our error.”
“The last thrush is still,” the last bat flies in “sharp hieroglyphics” and in “ancient wisdom.” The star is “like Plato, over the mountain.”
Drip in darkness like a leaking pipe in the cellar.
I’m awed that Warren has had not only the perceptiveness and creativity to see hawk, earth, and humans in these unusual ways, but also the courage to say so. Or is it just arrogance? In any case, he had to know that when it comes to elegant restraint, he was pushing the limit, if not pulverizing it. Apparently he feels he must—must—go on and say what he’s seen, what he believes, and everything in between.