(1) Autumn River
In later light
(that is the only light)
we see above the river
what hid so long within:
fin, claw risen,
eye that opened wide above
the reds and roofs,
over the clay and tin
our warmth was never in,
warmth we tried to gather
from the sun whose day was shorter
than our ever-going river,
river that we always said
would end in light. But what,
what is the light of ever?
What is the color of risen?
gleam of a gill,
cry of a gullet
when Eye the ever-famisher
is fed and at last filled?
What but the form of our hunger
rises, is our light?
Over the rock and the river
hunger, hunger is.
(2) Dwellings by a Giant Rock
The hand that rises here in stone –
the over and above –
is it the rock’s own,
rising over the river
in green we see but seldom
say – so over,
so other than the river,
shaped as the living
but over and on, reaching
where we seek but seldom
say? Is it ours? reaching from our little
slope of roof and bone, our little
shadow where we come to live, beating
our heart against the mountain
till a light is seen,
a hand is given?
--Lloyd Haft (from Formosa
