MARK STRAND'S TIME
(1927-2014)

That line will always be his
by the seasonal sharp wind
through the leaves clattering
in the ashen grey twilight
books in the worn knapsack
of the ancients are not strange
everything in its graces
belongings now arranged
by the blotting notes
with Homer among talisman
among city superstitious questions
at the gate breaker's quotes
frozen in psalmist silences
from silent antiquities den
shining in the exiled sun
from the fields along the sea
by Prince Edward Island
of the refugee and alien.