Light at the End of Summer

And a strange, long, melancholy kind of light it is. 

I particularly love WS Mervin's trademark lack of punctuation here - it really enhances the sense of not knowing when one is and deep uncertainty that abides in the poem. Not to mention the well-chosen line-breaks - notice how they often put a word into an unexpected association -   'peopled/ with absences' is just one example.

Season - WS Mervin

This hour along the valley this light at the end
       of summer lengthening as it begins to go
this whisper in the tawny grass this feather floating
       in the air this house of half a life or so
this blue door open to the lingering sun this stillness
       echoing from the rooms like an unfinished sound
this fraying of voices at the edge of the village
       beyond the dusty gardens this breath of knowing
without knowing anything this old branch from which
       years and faces go on falling this presence already
far away this restless alien in the cherished place
       this motion with no measure this moment peopled
with absences with everything that I remember here
       eyes the wheeze of the gate greetings birdsongs in winter
the heart dividing dividing and everything
       that has slipped my mind as I consider the shadow
all this has occurred to somebody else who has gone
       as I am told and indeed it has happened again
and again and I go on trying to understand
       how that could ever be and all I know of them
is what they felt in the light here in this late summer