The Idea of One
No man but a dream,
no dream but the bold idea of one
when the first man walked in the sun,
when the first man screamed in the wind,
when the first man felt the hair
on the back of his hand
and a stone therein
and the first rabbit screamed in the sun
and wet the stone with his blood.
I woke in the bright rain
in the morning before breakfast,
the morning after the morning
I was.
And climbed the steep sheets of my dream
of a man—or the idea of one.