...

And you're like the voices
of the earth - the crash
of the bucket in the well,
the song of fire,
the thud of an apple;
gloomy, resigned words
in door after door,
the cry of the  child - 
things that never  pass.
You do not change. You are dark.
You are the closed cellar
with the hard earth floors,
which the child entered
once, his feet bare,
and will always remember.
You are the dark room
one  always remembers,
like the ancient courtyard
where day would break.