Shadows

What stranger was that

who walked past my grave?

I looked to the unyielding sky

for the cloud whose shadow

gave me a shiver and found nothing

but emptiness in the infinite blue.

I lay down in the sweet grass

beside a mirror bright lake,

waiting for halfdreams

and reveries to come.

The cry of an osprey

wheeling above

invaded my slide 

into drowsy contentment.

What alarm is this,

this sourceless shadow,

this chill at sunny noon?

I looked up and saw nothing,

not even the bird whose cries

had disturbed me.

It must be that stranger

standing over my grave.

Then I slept without

any dreams to remember

and when I awoke,

I was hungry for bread

and thirsty for wine.

But my bag was empty

except for a much-thumbed

old book I’d lost and now found.

So I read a verse,

my grandfather’s favorite,

and the shadow and hunger

were gone.