PRISONER

I think there is some dark well
You drink from, your eyes mirror
Its chill waters; when I am in
Your warm kitchen and rain beats
On a slow drum, under the talk
I hear you answering the cry
Of wild voices, and through your veins�f
Sluices the night desolately pours.

There is some bleak work to do
Besides travelling the soil
On a slick tractor. In new woods
There are the old ghosts to appease.
The prisoner in the rain�fs cage
Dies, but his place has to be filled.