Miller is an international aid worker and teacher now living in Rutland, Vermont. He studied poetic techniques intensively for many years in seminars conducted by Lawrence Hart, mentor of the “Activist Group.”
Looking Back on My Death
I will be found on an old chalk hill,
A skull turned up like a common cup,
Its good eye’s glitter, to a further light, dissolved.
Was my visit large?
Its disturbance? Its crime?
So ask a child (short tool of his wonder)
This stain to reckon, and improve.
For I am led, now,
Away from the living races of this world
(The savage, and the savagely content);
Out of its stammering disbelief,
Past ordinary grief
To another and more mild compensation.
I remember loss of possession, of injury, of trade;
All my gods were useless in their slumber.
But against what sky,
O terrible bright!
What birds, spare as thistles, were winding?
Let those who must, make meaning
With their priestly blackened book.
It moved not in prayer,
Nor in parting;
They can but oddly look.
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