Our Small Minds Cry

What emptiness has haunted my nights
By what lone fires, only the wood rats know.
What loneliness has leveled my sight
To this red sundown; frost and stone and snow.
Alone could answer, being intimates
With the owl-like essential flitting me:
The little bird upon the upland gates
That never moves and yet is seen to be
Before and after, that with the burning eyes
Is the unresting daemon of this place.
On stone and wilderness his hooted cry
Is mockery and wind--his is my face
As masked and weird, and three long roads apart
Our small minds cry, as out of one strange heart.