2019-05-23


The Singer
--W. S. Merwin 
The song dripping from the eaves,
I know that throat  
With no tongue,
Ignoring sun and moon,  
That glance, that creature
Returning to its heart  
By whose light the streams
Find each other.  
Untameable,
Incorruptible,  
In its own country
It has a gate to guard.  
There arrived without choice
Take up water  
And lay it on your eyes saying
Hail clarity  
From now on nothing
Will appear the same  
And pass through
Leaving your salt behind. 


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