The Morning Hills
As those who are gone now
keep wandering through our words
sounds of paper following them
at untold distances
so I wake again in the old house
where at times I have believed
that I was waiting for myself
and many years have gone
taking with them the semblance of youth
reason after reason ranges of blue hills
who did I think I was missing
those days neither here nor there
my own dog waiting
to be known
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Really into W.S. Merwin lately (I’m late to the party). I love those closing lines: “my own dog waiting/to be known.” Isn’t that what our own dogs are often waiting for?
Hope you have joyful weekends!