[1]

It is an hour or two after Midnight. And I am Twenty-seven years old,

So announces the calendar Keeper who resides Under my skin & scalp.

And the tongue of a bell That hangs from the rafters Of my heart seems to grow

Heavy with all these years Of solitude. It begins to move, As if to toll, as if to mark

Off the year that has Been just done, with all That I did and didn’t do.

This is perhaps how The ability to comprehend Time’s account books -

Those sky-exposed Element-flayed logs On forest floors -

Comes. Something is Happening now. And the green radiance

Of the clock’s dial Is its only witness. It is an hour or so

After midnight. I am Twenty seven now. And Understanding, when Will you come?

[2]

As you have given This March day both Light and rain, Magnolias at my window Astonishment At the end of another winter, Music for these long Cloud-dark afternoon hours And air for my land-locked Breath to echo the sea,

Give these hands too A measure of grace As they move Over this page To write Thank you.