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beyond the last tin shed its tiny door and window straight as standing stones they turn towards the house beyond the last tin shed I carry there no books nor study catechism in the ring of earth that is no enclave but a million unspoilt sorrows past a million squares of soil rich and richer than a boy brought up on wheat could ever dream outside of town outside the rabbit fence beside the sea I heard the tractor when I woke I am as tired of hearing noises without words as I am tired of words beyond the last tin shed the gap in meaning waits forever like a warm compost, a septic tank all of the wisest men were too long talked about (all of the women followed last or spoke like men) at breakfast time I couldn't eat because the bowl was too beautiful it was too beautiful empty to fill but that sort of thing will get you remembered and when my mother asked me where my breakfast was she half expected an answer and so how could she understand me when I said beyond the last tin shed |