I had wanted a quiet testament
and I had wanted, among other things,
a song.
That was to be
of a like monotony.
(A grace
Simply. Very very quiet.
A murmur of some lost
thrush, though I have never seen one.
Which was you then. Sitting
and so, at peace, so very much now this same quiet.
A song.
And of you the sign now, surely, of a gross
perpetuity
(which is not reluctant, or if it is,
it is no longer important.
A song.
Which one sings, if he sings it,
with care.
