My Friends (W. S. Merwin Poems)
My friends without shields walk on the target It is late the windows are breaking My friends without shoes leave ...
My friends without shields walk on the target It is late the windows are breaking My friends without shoes leave ...
This is a place on the way after the distances can no longer be kept straight here in this dark ...
Every year without knowing it I have passed the day When the last fires will wave to me And the ...
In the evening all the hours that weren't used are emptied out and the beggars are waiting to gather them ...
Out of the dry days through the dusty leaves far across the valley those few notes never heard here before ...
Matches among other things that were not allowed never would be lying high in a cool blue box that opened ...
When you go away the wind clicks around to the north The painters work all day but at sundown the ...
At the last minute a word is waiting not heard that way before and not to be repeated or ever ...
How long ago the day is when at last I look at it with the time it has taken to ...
Moored to the same ring: The hour, the darkness and I, Our compasses hooded like falcons. Now the memory of ...
In a dream I returned to the river of bees Five orange trees by the bridge and Beside two mills ...
The star in my Hand is falling All the uniforms know what's no use May I bow to Necessity not ...
So gradual in those summers was the going of the age it seemed that the long days setting out when ...
Gray whale Now that we are sinding you to The End That great god Tell him That we who follow ...
By this part of the century few are left who believe in the animals for they are not there in ...
Why did he promise me that we would build ourselves an ark all by ourselves out in back of the ...
There in the fringe of trees between the upper field and the edge of the one below it that runs ...
What is the head A. Ash What are the eyes A. The wells have fallen in and have Inhabitants What ...
The cold slope is standing in darkness But the south of the trees is dry to the touch The heavy ...
My friend says I was not a good son you understand I say yes I understand he says I did ...
It is March and black dust falls out of the books Soon I will be gone The tall spirit who ...
Naturally it is night. Under the overturned lute with its One string I am going my way Which has a ...
Whenever I go there everything is changed The stamps on the bandages the titles Of the professors of water The ...
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