With what stillness at last you appear in the valley your first sunlight reaching down to touch the tips of a few high leaves that do not stir

Out of the dry days through the dusty leaves far across the valley those few notes never heard here before

A child looking at ruins grows you… but cold and wants to wake to a new name I have been younger in October than in all the months of spring

Listen with the night falling we are sayi… we are stopping on the bridges to… we are running out of the glass ro… with our mouths full of food to lo…

While I think of them they are gr… after the distances they have foll… all the way to the end for the fir… tracing a memory they did not have until they set out to remember it

There in the fringe of trees betwe… the upper field and the edge of th… below it that runs above the valle… one time I heard in the early days of summer the clear ringing

The star in my Hand is falling All the uniforms know what’s no us… May I bow to Necessity not To her hirelings

Now that you have caught sight of the other side of darkness the invisible side so that you can tell it is rising

So gradual in those summers was th… of the age it seemed that the long… when the stars faded over the moun… leaving us even as the birds woke… glittered in the webs it appeared…

Matches among other things that we… never would be lying high in a cool blue box that opened in other hands and the… bodies clean and smooth blue heads…

I gave you sorrow to hang on your… Like a calendar in one color. I wear a torn place on my sleeve. It isn’t as simple as that. Between no place of mine and no pl…

It is March and black dust falls… Soon I will be gone The tall spirit who lodged here ha… Left already On the avenues the colorless threa…

This is a place on the way after t… can no longer be kept straight her… of the barn a mound of wheels has… raveling courses to stop in a sing… and lie down as still as the chari…

The friends have gone home far up… of that river into whose estuary the man from England sailed in his… in time to catch sight of the late… furring in black the remotest edge…

Duporte the roofer that calm voice those sure hands gentling weathere… into new generations or half of him rising through a roof like some sea spirit from a wave