Nothing will do but
I must get a new flag,
I've buried enough under this one,
And then there are my
Followers, mad for a bit of color.
And the end I suppose is not yet,
The way the trees come beating
Their horses, and the wheat is camped
Under its dead crow,
The rivers under themselves. And I'm not ready
To just sit down and let the horizon
Ride over me.
Maybe I thought
I could go on and on flying the same rag,
Like the fire,
But it's faded white and I'm
Not the fire, I'll have to find
Something bright and simple to signify
Me, what an order.
What an order but I'll have to do something.
Up to now the pulse
Of a stone was my flag
And the stone's in pieces.
WHEN YOU GO AWAY