The Words of Evening

The trees are idle, in their stances the wind far long gone sometimes the breath of stillness is like life dreaming in daylight. The country of early October had no fruit Not burst open in the grass, and the birds then came with cries of absence and of rubble On a high carved hull, moving quickly towards us. My words of evening, You have the chill of late autumn grapes But even now the wine burns in your soul and I find my one true warmth in what you have begun. My words of evening, Your utterance slices the sky in two eternities but still I find fullness in what you end. The ship of a clear October's end may come. Then we shall mingle these two lights O my bright ship wandering at sea, Clarity of coming night and clarity of speech -The mist that rises above all living things And you the glowing of my lamp in death.