I
Office for Noon
At the field’s border, where the cricket chafes
His brittle wings among the yellow weed,
I pause to hear the sea unendingly sifted
Between the granite fingers of the cape.
At this twelfth hour of unrelenting summer
I think of those whose ready mouths are stopped.
I remember those who crouch in narrow graves.
I weep for those whose eyes are full of sand.
II
Office for Midnight
The ones who gave themselves to every moment
Till time grew gentle as a sated lover;
The young swift-footed and the old keen-eyed,
Whose roads are freedom and whose stars are constant,
Stand by me as I watch this empty town.
I am in love with the wildness of the living.
I am in love with the rhythms of dead limbs.
I am in love with all those who have entered
The night that smells of petals and of dust.