The Dove walks with sticky feet
Upon the green crowns of the almond tree,
Its feathers smeared over with warmth
Like honey
That dips lazily down into the shadow …

Anyone standing in that orchard.So filled with peace and sleep,
Would hardly have noticed the hill
With its three strange wooden arms
Lifted above a throng of motionless people
– Above the helmets of Pilate’s soldiers
Flashing like silver teeth in the sun.

Kenneth Patchen


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