blake-sickle

The sword sang on the barren heath,
The sickle in the fruitful field;
The sword he sung a song of death,
But could not make the sickle yield.

“Night kneels over the sleeper.

Where did his journey begin, where will

it burn through to?

And what does he swim for now.

Swim, sleeper, swim.”

Anne Carson | “TV Men: The Sleeper”