“And while the day died, sweet and fair, / I lit the lamps again.”

For Poetry Monday, something a little late, but better late than never:


To the Light of September, W.S. Merwin

When you are already here
you appear to be only
a name that tells of you
whether you are present or not

and for now it seems as though
you are still summer
still the high familiar
endless summer
yet with a glint
of bronze in the chill mornings
and the late yellow petals
of the mullein fluttering
on the stalks that lean
over their broken
shadows across the cracked ground

but they all know
that you have come
the seed heads of the sage
the whispering birds
with nowhere to hide you
to keep you for later

you
who fly with them

you who are neither
before nor after
you who arrive
with blue plums
that have fallen through the night

perfect in the dew


A late poem, from 2003.

---L.

Subject quote from The Wreck of the Pocahontas, Celia Thaxter.