type of poetry

i shake my hair in the wind of morning
when you come tonight
your body's motion is like music
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
up from the meadows rich with corn
with joy and wonder
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
often is it not so?
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
i went up and down the streets
a very remarkable history this is
that year
as a naked man i go
be patient, life, when love is at the gate