Came me, because all good things come
To the fore, and the smudging blurs
Are erased, leaving clear the cranium,
And our whole human memory, from caves
And savannahs, from leaves large as dinner
Plates, comes from the prophets,
From the saint and from the muleskinner,
And its the erasing of the old lines,
The old fences, the old dark spots
In the uncertain underbrush, that leave
The clear sky and forget-me-nots.
And sometimes a cloudy wind or
A dust dry sirocco shrouds the hill,
Until the north wind blows and brings
Pellucid light that limns the domicile.