WEBVTT

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I'm going to end with a poem
called "January: First Light."

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I have a whole series
of poems which have

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"first light" in the title.

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Being an insomniac, I get to
see first light very often.

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This poem-- I should
say just a little thing

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about the setting
of the poem, which

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is that near our house in Maine,
there's an old narrow gauge

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railroad which used
to take people to work

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from a part of
south-central Maine

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up to near Waterville,
where I live,

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and during World War II,
because of the iron shortage,

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they melted down the tracks from
that railroad and all that's

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left now is just a
small hill from it.

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January: First Light--

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It's the path of the
old railroad tracks just

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before light.

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No noise: the birds
are not yet awake,

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the barn owl
drifting into sleep,

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the iron scars have been
melted down for a war

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long fought and gone.

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Then the evening edged out
by the first band of light,

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across the strips of trees.

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I know I don't have long
to go: the sleepless night

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that brought me to the
woods behind the house

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is over now, and what fears
I had I left behind me there.

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Now I make out rapid tracks and
behind them, something larger,

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a dog perhaps, on its trail.

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The trail leads nowhere
and the rabbit's safe.

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A world without predators:
the parent's dream.

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Why won't it pass?

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Look: the starling's
pulled that ribbon of worm,

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the day's unraveling,
we're moving on,

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exhausted, ready to begin.

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Thank you.

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[APPLAUSE]

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