David Lee
(born) 1944


And came forth like Venus from an ocean of
heat waves, morning in his pockets and the buckets in his hands
he emerged from the gray shed, tobacco and wind
pursed together in song from his tight lips and he gathered day
and went out to cast wheat before swine. And in
his mind he sang songs and thought thoughts, images of clay
and heat, wind and sweat, dreams of silver and
visions of green earth twisting the cups of his mind
he crossed his fence of wire, the south Utah steppes
bending the air into corners of sky he entered
the yard to feed his swine. And his pigs, they come.