In the footsteps of the walking air

By Kenneth Patchen

In the footsteps of the walking air

Sky's prophetic chickens weave their cloth of awe

And hillsides lift green wings in somber journeying.

Night in his soft haste bumps on the shoulders of the abyss

And a single drop of dark blood covers the earth.

Now is the China of the spirit at walking

In my reaches.

A sable organ sounds in my gathered will

And love's inscrutable skeleton sings.

My seeing moves under a vegetable shroud

And dead forests stand where once Mary stood.

Sullen stone dogs wait in the groves of water…

Though the wanderer drown, his welfare is as a fire

That burns at the bottom of the sea, warming

Unknown roads for sleep to walk upon.