The man who cried against the wind
flew up through hurricanes of doubt
one season when the winter's rule
ran sternly; his arms were bright,
and bright his eye and gold his crown
and green right to the heart of him;
he cried against the winds at night,
he wandered back a million miles
through peril and delight, still hungering
athough his cheek was fat,
although his hands had killed for meat;
the senses, unruly, wandering,
made him cry grimly in the night,
calling the ghostly ones back
through thorn and over sand,
under sun and under moon,
to cry against the wind.
1985
Will Barber
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-man-who-cried/
