The Colder The Air
Elizabeth Bishop
We must admire her perfect aim, this huntress of the winter air whose level weapon needs no sight, if it were not that everywhere her game is sure, her shot is right. The least of us could do the same. The chalky birds or boats stand still, reducing her conditions of chance; air's gallery marks identically the narrow gallery of her glance. The target-center in her eye is equally her aim and will. Time's in her pocket, ticking loud on one stalled second. She'll consult not time nor circumstance. She calls on atmosphere for her result. (It is this clock that later falls in wheels and chimes of leaf and cloud.)
Next 10 Poems
- Elizabeth Bishop : The End Of March
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Fish
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Imaginary Iceberg
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Man-moth
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Map
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Monument
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Moose
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Shampoo
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Unbeliever
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Weed
Previous 10 Poems
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Burglar Of Babylon
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Bight
- Elizabeth Bishop : The Armadillo
- Elizabeth Bishop : Strayed Crab
- Elizabeth Bishop : Squatter's Children
- Elizabeth Bishop : Sonnet ( 1979 )
- Elizabeth Bishop : Sonnet ( 1928 )
- Elizabeth Bishop : Songs For A Colored Singer
- Elizabeth Bishop : Song For The Rainy Season
- Elizabeth Bishop : Sleeping On The Ceiling