It is March and black dust falls out of the books <br />Soon I will be gone <br />The tall spirit who lodged here has <br />Left already <br />On the avenues the colorless thread lies under <br />Old prices <br /> <br />When you look back there is always the past <br />Even when it has vanished <br />But when you look forward <br />With your dirty knuckles and the wingless <br />Bird on your shoulder <br />What can you write <br /> <br />The bitterness is still rising in the old mines <br />The fist is coming out of the egg <br />The thermometers out of the mouths of the corpses <br /> <br />At a certain height <br />The tails of the kites for a moment are <br />Covered with footsteps <br /> <br />Whatever I have to do has not yet begun<br /><br />William Stanley Merwin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/it-is-march/
