On Mt. Iron

Red sun, remember
The waterless hills,
Glare of light in
The water-courses.

No milk of cloud
Shall be offered you
From these dried breasts,
To your bronze heaven
No pitying tears.

Thin-skinned the mountains,
And the rocks stained
With crepuscular lichen;
No sap in the thorn,
No voice among shadows.

Red sun, remember
The earth lost in
A shudder of heat.

Charles Brasch

©Reproduced with the kind permission of
The Estate of Charles Brasch


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