I.
After a drifting day, visiting the bridge near Louisberg,
With its hot muddy water flowing
Under the excited swallows,
Now, at noon
We plunge through the hot beanfields,
And the sturdy alfalfa fields, the farm groves
Like heavy green smoke close to the ground.
II.
Inside me there is a confusion of swallows,
Birds flying through the smoke,
And horses galloping excitedly on fields of short grass.
III.
Yet, we are falling,
Falling into the open mouths of darkness,
Into the Congo as if into a river, Or as wheat into open mills.