Irradiations XV

O seeded grass, you army of little men Crawling up the long slope with quivering, quick blades of steel: You who storm millions of graves, tiny green tentacles of Earth, Interlace yourselves tightly over my heart, And do not let me go: For I would lie here forever and watch with one eye The pilgrimaging ants in your dull, savage jungles, The while with the other I see the stiff lines of the slope Break in mid-air, a wave surprisingly arrested, And above them, wavering, dancing, bodiless, colourless, unreal, The long thin lazy fingers of the heat.