p

Sabbaths 1998, VI

By expenditure of hope, Intelligence, and work, You think you have it fixed. It is unfixed by rule. Within the darkness, all Is being changed, and you Also will be changed. Now I recall to mind A costly year: Jane Kenyon, Bill Lippert, Philip Sherrard, All in the same spring dead, So much companionship Gone as the river goes. And my good workhorse Nick Dead, who called out to me In his conclusive pain To ask my help. I had No help to give. And flood Covered the cropland twice. By summer's end there are No more perfect leaves. But won't you be ashamed To count the passing year At its mere cost, your debt Inevitably paid? For every year is costly, As you know well. Nothing Is given that is not Taken, and nothing taken That was not first a gift. The gift is balanced by Its total loss, and yet, And yet the light breaks in, Heaven seizing its moments That are at once its own And yours. The day ends And is unending where The summer tanager, Warbler, and vireo Sing as they move among Illuminated leaves.

~ Wendell Berry ~