Narrow the eyes downward.
Pupils strain for nobody.

Arrow, arrow,
shoot the sparrow.

Her stride is carelessly overbearing
each step beyond itself,
beyond the path.

Piercing dart in the wind
charge, charge
her sullen heart.

To the apple orchard
where full fruits rot,
she climbs. And I
just stand,
Think not.

Contain, contain
my quiver, again.

Flowerbed lullaby:
the apples hum,
the tulips side-by-side,
the mums.

And I pull back
I pull precise.
Whispered chanting:
Once,
Twice.

Robert Whitehead

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/marked-2/