Á flor da pele

Sheep in Fog


The Hills step off into whiteness.
People or stars
Regard me sadly, I disappoint them.

The train leaves a line of breath.
O slow
Horse the color of rust,

Hooves , dolorous bells - 
All morning the 
Morning has been blackening,

A flower left out.
My bones hold a stillness, the far 
Fields melt my heart.

They threaten 
To let me through to a heaven 
Starless and fatherless, a dark water.


                                                                    Sylvia Plath in Crossing the Water (1971)