I came to the small peach of a month, 

to the bushel of days,

to a cairn of minutes 

where time was buried

I came to the September of a second

where trees stood so close together

they looked like the last night of all

I came to the latchkey of the moon, 

to the source of rue

No one saw me perched on the wrist of the world, 

no one saw me flying to such heights

or knew how long till I came back again, 

like crimson returning to god