|
You do not even sense that I have returned and am near at hand
At night when the silent moon murmurs in your ear know: it is not the moon circling your house I am wandering on the blue paths of your garden.
When walking on the road in the dead noon light you stop, frightened by the cry of a strange bird know: that was my heart’s call from the near banks
And when you see some shadow move in the twilight from the far side of the dark, silent water know: I am walking, proud and exultant as if beside you. |