Were the world a paraphrase
upon an unclear text

 

 

Were the world a paraphrase upon an unclear text
it would be written on the person that I am
and all the glossing actions of a day
mirrored on the need for journeying;
summer's multitudes to winter's singleness,
where narrow paraphrase becomes the word
by which the flighted summer comes
without the forward glance.

The commentary age, the scarcely broken deep,
the time that wakes the onward edge of sleep.

 

 

 

The Muffled Drum