Everything was just confusion,
And dirty too, so it goes
(So I said). Otherwise,
I wouldn’t have looked (heaven knows)
For a clean undershirt. The light
Had hurt my eyes, everything
Was blurred. And now the light was sweet,
The morning birds were chattering.
I pushed a tunnel through the grass
And crawled to a wheat-stalk cave
And light filtered down and the sweet smell
And the crowding, curved architrave.
It all started (I believe),
With one of those gales so prevalent
That time of year. It broke the oldest
Boughs, wild, belligerent.
Yaacov David Shulman