Well, sainthood’s a bottomless pity,
                                                                   as some wag once said, so
Better forget about that.

The more you say, the more mistakes you’ll make,
                                                                                                          so keep it simple.
No one arrives without leaving soon.

On the sill
the blown-out candle

I have been allowed to go on living in this
room. I am not asked to explain my presence
anywhere.

Outside the leaves are quiet
as their shadows. Hidden
in the leaves a bird is waiting

Do you still know these early leaves, trans-
lucent, shining, spreading on their branches
like green flames?

In the unshaded hill
where you kill
every day I have climbed

light that shines not
on, but from the
earth—

I can summon them
(sometimes I can)

Lured by the wall, and drawn
To stare below the roof,
Where pigeons nest aloof