W.S. Merwin
Dogs grief and the love of coffee
lengthen like a shadow of mine
and now that my eyes no longer
swear to anything I look out
through the cloud light of this autumn
and see the valley where I came
first more than half my life ago
oh more than half with its river
a sky in the palm of a hand
never unknown and never known
mine and not mine
beyond it into the distance
the ridges reflect the clouds now
through a morning without shadows
the river still seems not to move
as though it were the same river
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