Evening Poetry, May 13

(From This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems)

by Wendell Berry



Here where the world is being made,

No human hand required,

A man may come, somewhat afraid

Always, and somewhat tired,

For he comes ignorant and alone

From work and worry of

A human place, in soul and bone

The ache of human love.

He may come and be still, not go

Toward any chosen aim

Or stay for what he thinks is so.

Setting aside his claim

On all things fallen in his plight,

His mind may move with leaves,

Wind-shaken, in and out of light,

And live as the light lives,

And live as the Creation sings

In covert, two clear notes,

And waits; then two clear answerings

Come from more distant throats–

May live a while with light, shaking

In high leaves, or delayed

In halts of song, submit to making,

The shape of what is made.

You can find this poem in This Day: Collected & New Sabbath Poems.

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