When I climbed the hill outside my
house I saw
a red sun rising,
and the machines that they had built.
I was a child, and I saw as
birds see, with an
exact and impartial understanding
of tone and implication only—
I heard men building,
steel and iron, and I saw blood greasing
great cogs and pulleys which one by one
they thew themselves into.
Fear was in the sound of it,
God’s distant coda and
the world and everything was His clanging
statement—hammer, anvil, square.