sister poem

how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
my son is dead and i am going blind
as a white candle
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
there is a country full of wine
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
a flying word from here and there
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
by the rude bridge
i have seen the proudest stars
he came and took me by the hand
do you hear the rain?
gone are the three, those sisters rare