Beyond the Last Tin Shed

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