|
|
|
|
|
|
You will come in
From the November night
Into the clutter of my flat
Into the clutter of my life
To clear out a place among the clutter
Of old memories--taming them
Staving them off
Keeping apparitions at bay.
You will come as the rain comes
At the end of the summer
To the dry earth.
A single raindrop
Born in the sky
Is a part of all water
That fills the dry well.
-- from Longitudes
|
|
|
|
|
|
