A round circle newly burnt bare
rives the firm oak prints the fair
heads meet at a pout of hay
their bodies as it were so many spokes
such circles as are described by their dung
treading the same ring for days
indeed the strange fertility of these green circles
and as in coupling we may lay a large compass
on the ground and meet each other
between us a viscous singing matter
a tract upon the grass
as if each of us might at any
step out of the wall
and having seen it can no longer talk about it
as if the one head is not enough
its surface still growing and periodic
the length of the whole great year