In those days stone became bright and the dove bright-grey.
Bells in sunlight fell upon births and weddings.
My tongue clove to heaven’s roof, where night and morning
Moved as before. Yet it seemed from the East each day
The sun rose more slowly, announcing tidings.
I noticed the page of history my hand was turning,
And looked at it twice before I laid it away.
Sickness struck. Thieves overheard, or Shades,
In the garden of Eden known to me from my birth
Held distance hung on a sensitive needle’s trembling.
Had I not seen in a leaf before it fades
The symmetry of the heavens? And touching earth,
The round sun dropped, as low as a leaf, assembling
In a heavy drop all places, postures and trades.
A fuller’s whiteness filled heaven from the fall of dew.
How still the world! I listened. The bell in the steeple
Did not move. All night the loom of the stars
Was winding, watched by the counting clocks, a new
Sheet for one soul in a city emptied of people.
Precious time! I kept my shade, like a vase,
From the voices of substitution, silent for you.
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