To the New
Year
With what
stillness at last
you appear
in the valley
your first
sunlight reaching down
to touch the
tips of a few
high leaves
that do not stir
as though
they had not noticed
and did not
know you at all
then the
voice of a dove calls
from far
away in itself
to the hush
of the morning
so this is
the sound of you
here and now
whether or not
anyone hears
it this is
where we
have come with our age
our
knowledge such as it is
and our
hopes such as they are
invisible
before us
untouched
and still possible
By W. S. Merwin
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