171

John sat in the lee of
            The house with a tin of leather
                        Polish and two rags going over
A harness, his back at a
            Tangent to the wall and the
                        Tan hide and brass pins in the
Cradle of his arms and his
            Hair lifting in the slight air
                        And grey light of the pasture,
His hands gripped and body
            Intent, working at the soft tissue
                        And areas that had worn hard,
Like a red carapace.
            Dirt and dust had ingrained
                        And darkened it in some parts.
He sat back and watched crows
            Rove the pasture in the stench
                        Of his cold hands and he held
Them before him like severed
            Ends, numb and stained.
                        The polish smelt good to him.
The harness was laid over
            His knees. He reached for
                        The off cloth and began to buff.
When he had done it was
            As if the hemisphere of light overhead
                        Had ran into it from all points.
It was studded with broken light,
            Come through the cloudbank as if
                        Through a capillary membrane.