Lines Composed Outside of Harpers Ferry

East upon east,
All is ghost;
Ancestor;
Remnant.

Even the present nights
With their trees, moving,
Are unearthed
From battlefields.

The Shenandoah
Remembers when it had no name;

And townless
Places were bent around by it,
And by clouds in the mountains
Above it,

Before sword-scabbard hangers
Lost themselves
From the dead,
And went on to oxidize,
And will their way up toward hazy sunshines
Through plow-furrows.

These things know,
And sometimes us,
That the days here have not earned themselves
And likely never will.