W.S.
MERWIN
THE HOURS OF A BRIDGE
When the black.
When the lamps fill, when the lamps empty.
When a prayer. With no one praying it. Oh yes there
is
some–
one but they are hanging back, hanging back. All through the dark–
ness. In the daytime they are nothing but a long gasp. When a
prayer they let the prayer go ahead by itself and they hang back
and become deserted.
When a prayer again. No shoes running after it with a limp.
Or is that the prayer? No stars. Above or below. And still long long
before.
When a rat. When a flag. A long flag.
When the battle
will
cross. But that
will
be by its own light.
Between the smug statues.
When the sins of the night,
in
a butcher's cart. The same cart
that
is
used for the plagues. A dog painted on the side. A dog walk–
ing under it. Mist walking on each side. The wheels and the cart and
the dogs and the mist and the sins all unaware of each other.
When the man with the red hood that looks black. Going home.
When the battle
will
cross again, coming back. When the statues
will
all
become statues of the death of the air.
When the dawn's cat. Sits right down. By a coat, getting light.
When the coat
is
disturbed water runs out of it. Old water.
Old old water.
But the best thing for us, we believe, is to go on for as long as
we can, living upstream, tending our instruments by night. On the
one bank.
