We are there, on the hillside,
Evening coming down

You begin to lean
Against some longing
Till it shifts,
The whole stone weight of it
Begins to roll,
To thunder.

And I cannot move,
I cannot make my body
Step aside.
I cannot.

And after, when the night grows still again,
I settle on my back
Saying only, how sweet,
That fresh crushed meadow scent,

Not saying how my heart leapt
Like the small frogs
In the tall grass
In its darkening, rushing path.