“Invocation” by W.S. Merwin
The day hanging by its feet with a hole
In its voice
And the light running into the sand
Here I am once again with my dry mouth
At the fountain of thistles
Preparing to sing.
The day hanging by its feet with a hole
In its voice
And the light running into the sand
Here I am once again with my dry mouth
At the fountain of thistles
Preparing to sing.