Friday, September 23, 2022

The Laughing Thrush

 

O nameless joy of the morning

 tumbling upward note by note out of the night
 and the hush of the dark valley
 and out of whatever has not been there

 song unquestioning and unbounded
 yet this is the place and the one time
 in the whole of before and after
 with all of memory waking into it

and the lost visages that hover
around the edges of sleep
constant and clear
and the words that lately have fallen silent
to surface among the phrases of some future
if there is a future

here is where they all sing the first daylight
whether or not there is anyone listening

 --W.S. Merwin

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