Above the dog-eye-colored land
And town of San José
Of hot dog-fur and tin,
Six boys have slung a coffin by the ropes,
And they and all of it are growing in-
ward, in the motion of the sun
Unbearably shimmering to uncoil.
Many have been killed, and they are lying down.
Light falls, man falls: together.
Sun rises from earth alone.
The bottled brightness of heat
Holds queerly a spade’s scratched flame.
There is a log, a trembling barge
In air, and it is hard to hollow or to load.
Its wood-grain sews a sheet among their hands.
Each equal eye is in the mighty head
Of military gold. Behind their wheels
The trucks are lifting roads from where they lie.
Wheel falls, man falls: together.
Dust rises from earth alone.
In the balance walking breathless in their palms
He must not seem to move or be aware.
He leans, he feels he leans
Slowly from fist to fist again around.
He does not know how much or where
He swings, nor yet how much
Of him is stalled between, afloat inside
The muscles of their arms. He feels it shake.