Memory
Climbing through a dark shower
I came to the edge of the mountain
I was a child
and everything was there
the flight of eagles the passage of warriors
watching the valley far below
the wind on the cliff the cold rain blowing upward
from the rock face
everything around me had burned
and I was coming back
walking on charcoal among the low green bushes
wet to the skin and wide awake
- W.S. Merwyn