TOWARDS the sun, towards the
south-west
A
scorched breast.
A
scorched breast, breasting the sun like an answer,
Like a
retort.
An eagle at the top of a low
cedar-bush
On the
sage-ash desert
Reflecting the scorch of the sun from his breast;
Eagle, with the sickle dripping
darkly above.
Erect, scorched-pallid out of the
hair of the cedar,
Erect, with the god-thrust entering him from below,
Eagle gloved in
feathers
In scorched
white feathers
In
burnt dark feathers
In feathers still fire-rusted;
Sickle-overswept, sickle dripping over and
above.
Sun-breaster,
Staring two ways at once, to
right and left;
Masked-one
Dark-visaged
Sickle-masked
With
iron between your two eyes;
You feather-gloved
To the feet;
Foot-fierce;
Erect one;
The god-thrust entering you steadily from
below.
You never look at the sun with your
two eyes.
Only the
inner eye of your scorched broad breast
Looks straight at the
sun.
You are dark
Except
scorch-pale-breasted;
And dark cleaves down and weapon-hard downward
curving
At your
scorched breast,
Like a sword of Damocles,
Beaked eagle.
You’ve dipped it in blood so many
times
That dark
face-weapon, to temper it well,
Blood-thirsty bird.
Why do you front the sun so
obstinately,
American eagle?
As
if you owed him an old old grudge, great sun: or an
old,
old allegiance.
When you pick the red smoky heart
from a rabbit or a light —
blooded bird
Do you lift it to the sun, as the Aztec priests
used to lift
red hearts of
men?
Does the sun need steam of blood do
you think
In
America, still,
Old
eagle?
Does the sun in New Mexico sail like
a fiery bird of prey in
the sky
Hovering?
Does he shriek for
blood?
Does he fan
great wings above the prairie, like a hovering,
blood-thirsty bird?
And are you his priest, big
eagle
Whom the
Indians aspire to?
Is there a bond of bloodshed between you?
Is your continent cold from the
ice-age still, that the sun is
so angry?
Is the blood of your continent
somewhat reptilian still,
That the sun should be greedy for
it?
I don’t yield to you, big,
jowl-faced eagle.
Nor you nor your blood-thirsty sun
That sucks up blood
Leaving a nervous
people.
Fly off, big bird with a big black
back,
Fly slowly
away, with a rust of fire in your tail,
Dark as you are on your dark
side, eagle of heaven.
Even the sun in heaven can be curbed
and chastened at last
By the life in the hearts of men.
And you, great bird,
sun-starer, heavy black beak
Can be put out of office as sacrifice
bringer.
Taos.