Robert Bly (1926– )

Abstract Depression I felt my heart beat like an engine high in the air, Like those scaffolding engines standing only on planks; My body hung about me like an old grain elevator, Useless, clogged, full of blackened wheat. My body was sour, my life dishonest, and I fell asleep. I dreamt that men came toward me, carrying thin wires; I felt the wires pass in, like fire; they were old Tibetans, Dressed in padded clothes, to keep out cold; Then three work gloves, lying fingers to fingers, In a circle, came toward me, and I awoke. Now I want to go back among the dark roots; Now I want to see the day pulling its long wing; I want to see nothing more than two feet high; I want to see no one, I want to say nothing, I want to go down and rest in the black earth of silence.