The Other Tree
W S Merwin, July 1955, Poetry
It seems that the odour that the dark makes
When the night uncovers its cold, is a green thing.
I have seen the turning light rustle like leaves
And at sundown the birds sink like seeds falling.
Like folded seeds falling from no bough we can see
But out of the veined air and the light’s failing.
Sometimes I have felt there was, not shadow
But a dry branch, above my shoulder growing.
All day growing, and not shadow, and with no wind diverted.
I have not thought of the birds resting there. I think of them circling
All day in the rocking light, till they are shaken down
To curl blind like kernels, and cluster, like the fruit of sleeping.
You can read the entire poem here.