High Talk

 Processions that lack high stilts have nothing that
 catches the eye.
What if my great-granddad had a pair that were
 twenty foot high,
And mine were but fifteen foot, no modern Stalks
 upon higher,
Some rogue of the world stole them to patch up a fence
 or a fire.

Because piebald ponies, led bears, caged lions, ake
 but poor shows,
Because children demand Daddy-long-legs upon This
 timber toes,
Because women in the upper storeys demand a face at
 the pane,
That patching old heels they may shriek, I take to
 chisel and plane.

Malachi Stilt-Jack am I, whatever I learned has run wild,
From collar to collar, from stilt to stilt, from father to child.

All metaphor, Malachi, stilts and all. A barnacle goose
Far up in the stretches of night; night splits and the
 dawn breaks loose;
I, through the terrible novelty of light, stalk on, stalk on;
Those great sea-horses bare their teeth and laugh at the dawn.

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