by W. S. Merwin
They say the sun will come back
at midnight
after all
my one love
but we know how the minutes
fly out into
the dark trees
and vanish
like the great 'ōhi'as and honey creepers
and we know how the weeks
walk into the
shadows at midday
at the thought of the months I reach for your hand
it is not something
one is supposed
to say
we watch the bright birds in the morning
we hope for the quiet
daytime together
the year turns into air
but we are together in the whole night
with the sun still going away
and the year
coming back
