Song for September

In the distant night the children are singing: A little river And a colored fountain

THE CHILDREN: When will our hearts come back from your holiday? I: When my words no longer need me. THE CHILDREN: You have left us here to sing the death of your summer A little river And a colored fountain What September flowers do you hold in your hand? I: A bloody rose and a white lily. THE CHILDREN: Dip them in the water of an old song A little river And a colored fountain What are you tasting in your thirsty mouth? I: The flavor of the bones of my big skull. THE CHILDREN: Drink the kind water of an old song A little river And a colored fountain Why have you gone so very far from the death of your summer? I: I am looking for a magical clockworkman. THE CHILDREN: And how will you find the highway of poets? I: The fountain and a river and an old song. THE CHILDREN: You are going very far. I: I am going very far, farther than my poems, farther than the mountains, farther than than the birds. I am going to ask Christ to give me back my childhood, ripe with sunburn and feathers and a wooden sword. THE CHILDREN: You have left us here to sing the death of your summer. And you will never return. A little river And a colored fountain And you will never return.