October 

--W. S. Merwin

I remember how I would say, “I will gather 

These pieces together, 

Any minute now I will make 

A knife out of a cloud.” 

Even then the days 

Went leaving their wounds behind them,

But, “Monument,” I kept saying to the grave, 

“I am still your legend.” 

There was another time 

When our hands met and the clocks struck 

And we lived on the point of a needle, like angels. 

I have seen the spider’s triumph 

In the palm of my hand. Above 

My grave, that thoroughfare,

There are words now that can bring 

My eyes to my feet, tamed. 

Beyond the trees wearing names that are not their own 

The paths are growing like smoke.

The promises have gone,

Gone, gone, and they were here just now. 

There is the sky where they laid their fish. 

Soon it will be evening.

[via Paris Rvw Daily Poem]