Up Close and from Afar

Each evening a song swirls among your things 

and brings, from over its bridge,

figures that once did and didn’t exist.  

They gather upon your ridge.

There are youthful ones and widowed ones 

at the latter end of their days,

manners of speaking that are but a sign 

for the questions that you’ll raise,

cities that swelled in fortune 

before surrendering to Neptune’s flow,

many thousand similes and likenesses 

by means of which you’ll grow,

lutes and mandolins that accompanied 

destinies, farewells and sighs.

And each, my child, is rooted in you, 

in order out of you to rise.

In this song, each thing repeats itself – 

each grimace, each hovel, each star.

You halloo them in their orbit around you – 

up close and from afar.

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[Next: The Great Turning]