prose poetry

as i lie roofed in, screened in
with lips blood red and heart of stone
there is no flock, however watched and tended
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
looking beyond
into the silent land
there was a time in former years
brother, i am fire
in the cloud-gray mornings
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
the hypocritic days
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
my soul is a dark ploughed field