SONNET IV

You will recall the gorge of capricious waters
from which throbbing perfumes climbed,
and a bird, from time to time, clothed
with liquid slowness: winter plumage.

You will recall the gifts of the earth:
hot scents, clay of gold,
scrub grasses, mad roots,
bewitched thorns like swords.

You will recall the branch you bore,
branch of shadow and water of silence
branch like a stone of spume.

And that time was as never and always:
we go there where nothing does not await us,
and find all that is waiting there.