It was still when I saw you in the garden at nightfall —
A beggar in an art of stones —
A silhouette of God.
When did you arrive?
I recall the end of the afternoon
and a gloom of empty streets.
It was a shadow of hydrangeas that drooped like a sleeping man.
A silver hand at the open window. —
(or was it closed?)
Did you speak, or was it some pale octave of leaves?
It was windy — Your hair was black and the night was gray.
By the clock,
The window was closed. —
(or was it open?)
I crouched in the garden at nightfall:
A sleep of toppled stones…
When did I leave?
It was a shadow of hydrangeas that you saw —
No beggar in the empty streets —
No silhouette of God —
Only a black night,
Only silver hands and gray hair
In the stillness of the afternoon.