Man or Martian?

Go softly between the new born

bulls whose legs are dimpling the mind

of these blue hills. What sound is that 

which knows you for its own? 

Cow pats are listening to stars drone…

And yet we hear, we see so little except 

what we expect. What if I called you 

and you were not there? And I went striding 

through the violet paths of sleep 

to find a glade so busy with the work 

of dreams that I awoke and found our old, 

known world extinct. That whirring? 

It is a singing skin beneath a scimitar 

of light which calls my name. Or is it 

the sex of flowers on the wing?