AL That sudden time I heard the pulse of song in a thrush throat my windy vision fluttered like snow-clouds buffeting the moon. I was born into an ambush Of preachers, propagandists, grafters, ("Fear life and death!" "Hate and pay me!") and tho I learned to despise them all my dreams were of rubbish and destruction. But that song, and the drop-notes of a brook truckling thru log-breaks and cedars, I came to on numb clumsy limbs to find outside the beauty inside me.