The Yachts

When I run

my hand

over bamboo

they send me a sound.

That half light

in the air

is a great place

for a habit

of the early spring.

Their shadows are my dreams

and what I have lost

becomes an invitation

and a challenge.

Wherever I go,

the wind holds my

body, sends a note down

to the great river.

I reach and invite

the birds of dawn.

They are not far

when I can feel

the salt in my throat.

Come.

Come.

Come.

• William Carlos Williams