I dreamed myself of their people, I am of their people, <br />I thought they watched me that I watched them <br />that they <br /> <br /> <br />watched the sun and the clouds for the cities <br />are no longer mine image images <br /> <br /> <br />of existence (or song <br /> <br /> <br />of myself?) and the roads for the light <br />in the rear-view mirror is not <br />death but the light <br /> <br /> <br />of other lives tho if I stumble on a rock I speak <br />of rock if I am to say anything anything <br />if I am to tell of myself splendor <br />of the roads secrecy <br /> <br /> <br />of paths for a word like a glass <br /> <br /> <br />sphere encloses <br />the word opening <br />and opening <br /> <br /> <br />myself and I am sick <br /> <br /> <br />for a moment <br /> <br /> <br />with fear let the magic <br />infants speak we who have brought steel <br /> <br /> <br />and stone again <br />and again <br /> <br /> <br />into the cities in that word blind <br /> <br /> <br />word must speak <br />and speak the magic <br /> <br /> <br />infants’ speech driving <br />northward the populist <br />north slowly in the sunrise the lapping <br /> <br /> <br />of shallow <br />waters tongues <br /> <br /> <br />of the inlets glisten <br />like fur in the low tides all that <br /> <br /> <br />childhood envied the sounds <br /> <br /> <br />of the ocean <br /> <br /> <br />over the flatlands poems piers foolhardy <br /> <br /> <br />structures and the lives the ingenious <br />lives the winds <br /> <br /> <br />squall from the grazing <br />ranches’ wandering <br /> <br /> <br />fences young workmen’s <br /> <br /> <br />loneliness on the structures has touched <br />and touched the heavy tools tools <br />in our hands in the clamorous <br /> <br /> <br />country birth- <br />light savage <br /> <br /> <br />light of the landscape magic <br /> <br /> <br />page the magic <br />infants speak<br /><br />George Oppen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/populist/
