It said nothing
then it spoke.
The silence and the saying
sounded same
but the difference was
I understood.

2.
The calendar shifted
to keep up with the sun,
her balance act of day and night.
Old Lammas slipped
a dozen dawns down
and now we know a new one
come over the hill,
naked in cornfields, raft
of cloud overhead,
angels of air looking
emptily meaningfully down,
soon the harvest begins.

3.
There are still errors
left for me to make—
times and titles,
answering the wrong questions,
writing the wrong book.

4.
The world as is
wants to be loved.
Doesn’t mind
a little flirtation
with the Pleistocene
but come back soon.
Now is now. Now
is when you count.

5.
So it’s wonderful on summer days
the way plump clouds come up
slow over the trees and speak.
It’s quiet enough to write down
what they say. Just pay attention
to the vowels and the consonants
will take care of themselves.

6.
So let the vowels lead you
all the way,
the enormous vowel of the sea
will bear you on,
we know that from today’s birthday,
Melville, master of energetic
triumphant loneliness.

7.
But in Xhosa there are 18
consonants, mouth sounds
maybe like what we make
when talking to horses or to poultry
or try to write down as tsk-tsk or tut-tut,
sounds waiting to be used,
always something new from Africa
the Romans said, remember?
Remember Rome, the Christians
in the Colosseum, the old emperor
studying Etruscan, Princess Julia
naughty in the Arches, remember
the sounds of ghosts, goats,
flute players, the river slipping by,
let the vowels help you remember.

8.
Who are we anyway
if the calendar can change?
The little boy asked that
standing in the surf
with his little tin shovel in hand,
as if eager for the sand.
Who are we even
when the wind dies down
or when the crows in the corn
look at us but don’t call out?
Or when the cars pass up the road
too fast for us to see who’s driving,
who are we when the night falls down—
why do they say it falls?
The little boy lets one question
distract him from another.
Good little boy. Now he bends
and starts building his castle.

9.
Lammas is Saturday this year,
no mowing, please.
Just bend down and kiss the grass
given to us by the Lord of Time,
let it grow wild the whole afternoon,
wait and eat your breakfast in the dark.

10.
Clouds mostly teach silence
but sometimes they roar,
chide the delinquent
messengers we are.
Their silence means to make us speak–
that in a way is the whole story.
If you doubt me, ask any stone.

                                             1 August 2020