from Fourth Residence: Weather
What is the emanation of their image?
They are from the early 1870s.
They move from house to house like windows.
They rise and fall.
They are a demonstration.
They continue to drift.
Some become informants.
They represent an emergence.
They are marginal. They move in rivulets.
They exist not only in their details.
They contain their own extraordinary destiny.
They live beside a family of small farmers.
They are discovered and decide to emigrate.
Their name is William.
They are born a little girl.
* * *
I do not know what it is they are like. What they move through feels like water. It is difficult for them to distinguish what is above from what is below. Clods of earth became not just synonymous, but identical to clouds. They often weep in the driest of climates. Moments recede from them. It is difficult for them to see what they are looking at. They are very close and very far from objects. When they speak one cannot locate the exact position of their mouth. Often they are recognizable in fields, though not readily apparent, one can sense them in the absences.
* * *
And if water now, a great deal of water, suddenly came over me unexplained I would progress to the depths of possibilities with so much affection. It would be natural for me to understand what winter is. With tufts of wool I run through this white, white country. Shadowy and radiant in the distance, up the inclined plains. As far as the dark, gray-blue skies to other open places, in which the pink of a cloud is slowly turning the gray, trembling sky golden.