You will never be alone, you hear so deep

A sound when autumn comes. Yellow

Pulls across the hills and thrums,

Or the silence after lighting before it says

Its names — and then the clouds’ wide-mouthed

Apologies. You were aimed from birth:

You will never be alone. Rain

Will come, a gutter filled, an Amazon,

Long aisles — you never heard so deep a sound,

Moss or rock, and years. You turn your head —

That’s what the silence meant: you’re not alone.

The whole wide world pours down.

WILLIAM STAFFORD