Years

They enter as animals from the outer
Space of holly where spikes
Are not the thoughts I turn on, like a Yogi,
But greenness, darkness so pure
They freeze and are.

O God, I am not like you
In your vacuous black,
Stars stuck all over, bright stupid confetti.
Eternity bores me,
I never wanted it.

What I love is
The piston in motion –
My soul dies before it.
And the hooves on the horses, 
Their merciless churn.

And you, great Stasis –
What is so great in that !
Is it a tiger this year, this roar at the door ?
Is it a Christus, 
The awful

God-bit in him
Dying to fly and be done with it ?
The blood berries are themselves, they are very still.

The hooves will not have it, 
In blue distance the pistons hiss.