Death came out of the moonlight, and he wheeled
Hawklike above the empty, shining plain,
Dove into plummet, and in that revealed
The object that he sought. But sudden rain,
In sheets descending from a clear dark sky
Hid it from sight; from even his blank eyes
Which look eternally and can descry
The tissues of a life. In his surprise
He fell out of his stoop and struck the sand
Which drank up rain and death in one great swallow
And then closed up. Upon the sodden land
There were no tracks or markings one could follow
To find the grave of death. And there he lies
Waiting with patience 'til the desert dries.
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