brother poem

i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
i reside at table mountain
since i have felt the sense of death
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
quietly, with reverance, in awe
bring me soft song
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
the little white prayers
do you hear the rain?
i am the wind that wavers
if i were very sure
my son is dead and i am going blind
when i was a boy at college