I remember how I would say,
"I will gather the pieces together."
Even then the days
went leaving their wounds behind them.
There was another time
when our hands met and the clocks struck
and we lived on the point of a needle like angels.
The promises have gone,
gone, and they were here just now.
There is the sky where they laid their fish.
Soon it will be evening.
—A compression of W.S. Merwin's "October."
