He shoots the bird and gives its name
To the arrows fletched from its wings.
He wears the feathers knotted in his hair.

He cuts into a fruit and watches
The juices run and bites
The flesh and knows its name.
His arms, for branches, bear the peach again.

He takes downs trees and pulls up meadows,
Upturns the hills and shatters constellations into day,
And in among the clay and rubble
He tastes the fruit and sings the sparrow's name.