Their Voices And Shapes

 

Their voices and shapes are always there,

Moving out of the shadows

As I come forward with a faint hail.

The ridgepole straightens again.

The roof is shingled and the grass is cut.

The windows are fresh with curtains.

 

I have seen myself there,

Hanging back in the shadows,

Wishing I would go away,

Shy and impatient with this

Interruption by a strange adult

Out of an unknown future.

 

July 21, 1964