Saturday, September 10, 2016

Memory by W. S. Merwin


Climbing through a dark shower 
I came to the edge of the mountain

I was a child 
and everything was there

the flight of eagles the passage of warriors 
watching the valley far below

the wind on the cliff the cold rain blowing upward 
from the rock face

everything around me had burned 
and I was coming back

walking on charcoal among the low green bushes 
wet to the skin and wide awake


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