The dark birds came,
I didn’t know their name.

They walked in Hebrew on the sand
so I’d understand.

They sang, the sea flowed,
though no one made a road.

I shivered on the shore
when the water closed its door.

Then as I felt the birds return
to me like ashes to an urn,

and sunlight warmed the stones
fire undressed my bones.

1968


 = Daniel Myers