the clarity of the moon, of the stars,
flowed like rivers in an estuary
and you there alone, awake,
not being born or flowering—
alone with the night.
*
and I was left with the dusk,
with the smoke, the haze, and the night,
with the solitude of the road.
*
You awakened me yesterday, friend,
and I went out to meet you:
the universe smelled of clover,
of a star opened in the dew:
who are you, and why were you singing
so intimately sonorous,
so uselessly precise?
*
I come and go about the world,
unarmed,
just whistle my way along,
submit
to the sun and its certainty,
to the rain's violin voice,
to the wind's cold syllable.