poem for pastors

i am in love with high far-seeing places
a thousand silent years ago
there by the window in the old house
in mournful numbers
before the solemn bronze saint
eighty years have passed, and more
i can not tell you now
she heard the children playing in the sun
love me at last, or if you will not
to be able to see every side of every question
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
thou unrelenting past
within my hand i hold
my mother taught me that every night