This night has seen a thousand nights go down
The closed circle of earth; this night lying
Tangent to water has seen the dim moon drown
Against its image. And now when moonlight dying
Fades to a watery gray along the east,
The spider walks uncertain on the snare
That he has threaded, finding not the least
Unbarricaded passage anywhere.
We walk in water all these early hours
Uncertain as the spider through his town,
Almost unsure of these strange, weighted flowers:
Almost unknowing that always the night goes down
Its closed arc, and that day must surely be heard
On the last bough east, from the numbed throat of a bird.
Leave a Reply