After the ghosts of evening have left the garden –
After the bells of the basilica fade
After the blue fire of youth rises to yellow ash of stars –
Comes the guest.
Between the speech and speaking –
Between the dream and dreaming –
Between before and after –
Comes the guest.
Before the circle of all lives –
Before illusions of afternoon –
Before winter’s silver vesper of frost –
Comes the guest.
Make ready the table and the lamps:
It is already snowing on a black robe of roads.
It is wind arriving in a wood-smoke of night.
It is the faint knock at the locked door.
Now is what has always been, and may yet be.
After the ghosts of evening have left the garden –
After your season of old age –
After the dead reckoning of the moment –
Comes the guest.