December Night

The cold slope is standing in darkness
But the south of the trees is dry to the touch

The heavy limbs climb into the moonlight bearing feathers
I came to watch these
White plants older at night
The oldest
Come first to the ruins

And I hear magpies kept awake by the moon
The water flows through its
Own fingers without end

Tonight once more
I find a single prayer and it is not for men

~W.S. Merwin

laureate of the Golden Crown of the Struga Poetry Evenings
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poem at terrapoetica
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The Creation of the Moon
Anonymous Caxinua, Amazon
translated by W.S. Merwin

Merwin at the Academy of American Poets