is the only kindred voice he'll hear
he speaks a few words
just for himself
alone on this strange earth
deep in the February woods
the trees creaking with cold,
the thin white vines of frost on the glass,
the patter of small wings at the porch feeder,
the talus of snow on the sill,
and the man himself
finding themselves together again
just in front of the door
which he opens slowly
to enter the plank-sided cabin,
desk, chair, and book
blazing in a glory of sun.
—patterned on a 1933 miniature by Jean Follain collected in "Transparence of the World," 2003, translated by W.S. Merwin.
