Along Glade Creek
Near the old fall burn,
Southeast of the
High black cliffs,
I saw you--
Scrambling through
The new grass,
Casual, in the clear,
Apparently alone.

Of course I knew you,
We all do
From your politics.
Yet seeing,
Still I doubted--
A gray autumn shadow
In a June meadow
So close to home:
This blood lust primeval.

10/28/2003