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Poem	The magpie in the Joshua tree Has come to rest. Darkness collects, And what I cannot hear or see, Broken limbs, the curious bird, Become in darkness darkness too. I had been going when I heard The sound of something called the night; I had been going but I stopped To see the bird restrain his flight. The bird in place, the shadows dropped As if they waited in the light Before I came for centuries For something I could never see; And what it was became itself, And then the bird, and then the tree; And then the force behind the breeze Became at last the whole of me.
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