One joins the movement in a valueless world,Choosing it, till both hurler and the hurled,One moves as well, always toward, toward. Collected Poems by Thom Gunn (1994)
Direct me gods, whose changes are all holy,To where it flickers deep in grass, the moly. Collected Poems by Thom Gunn (1994)
Thus for each blunt-faced ignorant oneThe great grey rigid uniform combinedSafety with virtue of the sun.Thus concepts linked like chainmail in the mind. Collected Poems by Thom Gunn (1994)
These seem like bristles, and the hide is tough.No claw or web here: each foot ends in hoof. Collected Poems by Thom Gunn (1994)