I have heard the summer drip into the sea.
I have heard rain-rotted summer in the sluices
Foaming. I have seen the yellow spill
Of last year’s summer—
The sound of the sea breaking beyond the wall
Was surd, flat, stopped as the voice of a deaf woman.
Dead leaves tiptoed in the path.
The trees listened—
And she saw the blind moon climb through the colorless air,
Through the willow branches. She could feel the moon
Lifting the numb water, and the sea fill.
She thought, The spring will come now overflowing
11
