W S merwin
Before The Flood
Why did he promise me That we would build ourselves An ark all by ourselves Out in back of the house On New York Avenue In Union City New Jersey To the singing of
Green Fields
By this part of the century few are left who believe in the animals for they are not there in the carved parts Of them served on plates and the pleas from the slatted
The Speed Of Light
So gradual in those summers was the going of the age it seemed that the long days setting out When the stars faded over the mountains were not leaving us even as the birds
Yesterday
My friend says I was not a good son You understand I say yes I understand He says I did not go To see my parents very often you know And I say yes
Vehicles
This is a place on the way after the distances can no longer be kept straight here in this dark corner Of the barn a mound of wheels has convened along raveling courses to
My Friends
My friends without shields walk on the target It is late the windows are breaking My friends without shoes leave What they love Grief moves among them as a fire among Its bells My
December Night
The cold slope is standing in darkness But the south of the trees is dry to the touch The heavy limbs climb into the moonlight bearing feathers I came to watch these White plants
The Source
There in the fringe of trees between The upper field and the edge of the one Below it that runs above the valley One time I heard in the early Days of summer the
Air
Naturally it is night. Under the overturned lute with its One string I am going my way Which has a strange sound. This way the dust, that way the dust. I listen to both
For A Coming Extinction
Gray whale Now that we are sinding you to The End That great god Tell him That we who follow you invented forgiveness And forgive nothing I write as though you could understand And
Any Time
How long ago the day is When at last I look at it With the time it has taken To be there still in it Now in the transparent light With the flight in
The Burnt Child
Matches among other things that were not allowed Never would be Lying high in a cool blue box That opened in other hands and there they all were Bodies clean and smooth blue heads
When You Go Away
When you go away the wind clicks around to the north The painters work all day but at sundown the paint falls Showing the black walls The clock goes back to striking the same
Some Last Questions
What is the head A. Ash What are the eyes A. The wells have fallen in and have Inhabitants What are the feet A. Thumbs left after the auction No what are the feet
Whenever I Go There
Whenever I go there everything is changed The stamps on the bandages the titles Of the professors of water The portrait of Glare the reasons for The white mourning In new rocks new insects