When he crept back, searching for Dawn -- a smoldering fume of dry frost, Promised by her looks, is saving up The tiger kills hungry, The machine guns He has not yet been cut. She gives him his eyes, she found them He gazed round, the tall young German at the jetty, Pain was pulled down over his eyes like a fool’s hat. And here We had a motorbike all through the war Each new moment my eyes Stirs its ashes and embers, its burnt sticks Sits in the bar corner -- being bought Through roofless Gulf cellars Death is also trying to be life. No came from the earth I woke in the bed of the Rains He looked at her but he could not see her face. You open the door
(Find a copy of these poems and read them. The book, our favorite of Hughes’ oeuvre, is unfortunately out of print.)
pea river journal 
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