The poem
Still, I would leap too Into the light, If I had the chance. It is everything, the wet green stalk of the field On the other side of the road. They crouch there, too, faltering in terror And take strange wing. Many Of the dead never moved, but many Of the dead are alive forever in the split second Auto headlights more sudden Than their drivers know. The drivers burrow backward into dank pools Where nothing begets Nothing.
Across the road, tadpoles are dancing On the quarter thumbnail Of the moon. They can't see, Not yet.
Wrong poet
James Wright wrote this poem not Richard Wilbur.
Thanks for changing the poet! Great poem.
Love this poem
This is by far my favourite James Wright poem. Such a simple idea too.