Alba
by W. S. Merwin November 3, 2008
Climbing in the mist
I came to a terrace wall and
saw above it a small
field of broad beans in flower
their white fragrance was flowing
through the first light of morning
there a little way up the mountain
where I had made my way through
the olive groves and under the blossoming
boughs of the almonds above the old hut
of the charcoal burner where suddenly
the scent of the bean flowers found me
and as I took the next step I heard
the creak of the harness and the mule’s
shod hooves striking stones in the furrow and
then the low voice of the man talking softly
praising the mule as he walked behind
through the cloud in his white shirt
along the row and between his own words
he was singing under his breath a few phrases
at a time of the same song singing it
to his mule it seemed as I listened
watching their breaths and not understanding a word
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment