o! sleeping lady
'cross the water
whose hair unfurls horizons
your mountain-breast
tit-tip points
at sinking stars
o! one of some wet gullies
though mostly sloped and dry
and yellow as the sun
you smell of sea-wind
and among your powers
the command of fog
and you hide sometimes
but I have known
the wet webs of morning
on your side
and the shadows
of the North
walked heel around
to heel, across
your flank and
crouched in rain wet
thicket with a lover,
cold, in awe.
But I still have questions!
Who are you?
When you roll, in sleep
must you turn the heavens so?