Just before waking—that single strong cry
in the night, then the wind as if answering:
one hears, one tries to come awake, and finds only
the countryside waiting, and the moon, and the tame landscape.
But into that story we assume out there-seething
beyond what we know-one has been invited again.
An owl floats forth its call deep into darkness
where new messages come from. Many secrets
wait there, many blunders and friends that time has
carried away, and my own dark years, my life
hidden so carefully inside the caverns of my poems.
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