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On the mountain, wet with overripe blackberry,
His dwelling darkens..
With what force a man clenches the sharpened stake
Till at the end of some stony burrow
A hunter draws the rush, the blood from the throat,
From the reared-up shadow of a great ancestor..
Yet besides his being skinned,
Besides his cut-off paw —
Where his strength might be grasped
Alongside the smell of wild garlic —
The signs remain, drawn by claws
Around the stony pit:
He used to sharpen them there..
And a hand just memorizes them for later..
Of course, when a hand gathered mushrooms,
Or fumbled for trout between stones —
That knowledge was of no use..
But later, tired from forming nets
For a bigger, much bigger catch —
The tedious job led to simpler work:
Signs — they were able in some way
To justify the rough slaughter..
Rather, it was an easy occupation —
Just to plunge one’s finger in blood
Or slash with some sharpened thing
On a bone or bark, or later, on paper:
Signs in some order..
But what is it — paper?
Does a hand know it? That it
Is barren land, hewed wood, mines crumbling?
Perhaps the hand doesn’t want to know
Because all the while
It strikes to bleach itself of dung and smoke,
To become more delicate,
A possession of itself,
The perfect instrument no one else possesses..
And how pitiful to find out
That the other, almost same hand
Was shaping, days and nights, the iron chain for a young bear,
To teach him to dance
On a hot tin plate..
Nearly the same hand puts wood gingerly into the fire,
Sharpens the pencil —
Indeed, a perfect instrument —
Just to emaciate the hand,
To press it closely to the heart..
What pain the heart must suffer —
To return again to the oil and salt,
To the native and stony ground,
Where each stone or juniper leaf
With each touch bleeds an acrid drop,
To be immersed in it,
To find a little easer life
Than wandering Arabian deserts —
The mountain is so close,
Dark with sweet blackberry.
Yet even a quick bird perched on thorny twig
Can’t peck the whole berry,
But tortures it, sprinkles the ground with juice,
And hungry still, flies on.

HE