I'll read two more poems from that book.
One of them I was asked to read is this one.
It's called For The Anniversary Of My Death.
Every year without knowing it, I have passed the day
when the last fires will wave to me
and the silence will set out, tireless traveler
like the beam of a light star.
Then I will no longer find myself in life
as in a strange garment surprised at the Earth,
and the love of one woman, and the shamelessness of men
as today writing after three days of rain
hearing the Wren sing and the falling cease,
and bowing not knowing to what.