type of poetry

i see all human wits
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
beside a stricken field
truely
in all things not spoken of
if the red slayer think he slays
long ago, in the young moonlight
tell me not
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
afraid no more, i say
looking beyond
he'd even have his joke
when, full of warm and eager love