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zen in mid-air and skidding underfoot, and beyond that the country–
side, and the field with its silent aircraft, having nothing, not even
their engine-noise, to defend them. They are parked in rows, here–
membered, preparing to get up from the tub-floor according to rou–
tine, as he did almost everything, envisioning aircraft in a long line
stretching away from him out of sight, and the top wings- Harbelis
had said they had two-formed, from his angle-which could have
been anywhere but was here- one single wing all the way to the hor–
izon, a wing of snow, pure wing, ready for unimaginable flight when
the weather cleared, or ready now. He rose to both feet, steadied
and slow-hurdled out, tried to find a trash-basket for the bottle,
couldn't, backed it into a corner, left it, and toweled off. He felt
himself out into the other room, turned the bed down, stood over it
like a landmass, got in and went down.
James Dickey is the author of
Puella, The Strength of Fields,
and
Buckdancer's Choice
(recipient of the 1965 National Book Award), among
other collections of poems, and the novel
Deliverance.
