TOLL
BY KATE MIDDLETON
—cento after Barry Lopez
Like a vision through a white picket fence—
Like a salt crust after the tide—
A great whale lies dying in the forest
its dying thoughts pass sub rosa leaf to leaf
in a soft after-rain of twigs
Like the air around a stone—
Like a forgotten name or the taste of a peach—
The whale feels pain along the ribs
dismantled by loneliness
Odour of bruised grass and cracked bone
hanging in the air
Once an antelope taught it to run
Now it suffers the loudest dreaming, the dreams of boulders—
And to the anguish of snails
even the faint movement of its blood
tolls like rain driven against tower bells
tolls like the laughing of horses