After a dark week
I awake in the beautiful old country
In a bedroom watery with sun.
From great distance the sound of rain
Is breaking over mountains.
Beneath the window wet lawns
Descend evenly to the river
Where steadily as clocks
Carp swirl red fins beneath flies.
Farther down, a man is poling a skiff
Off the southern part of the landscape
As at morning a dream is driven off the captured mind.
The night is draining from the land.
Sunday. The forty days and nights of Noah have passed.
A newcomer, I open the door and step out into the morning.
Breaking with joy, my arms fill with flowers.
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