DAILY The stranger arrived five days ago. I see him stride along the storm-line Stooped and blood weary Yet resistant to surrender, Walking miles with himself Watched by those inside Warm by fires, wondering Does he want friendship? Is he hungry to be seen And sit shoulder to shoulder With us as the dogs do? He was not expected, This tall, turkey-necked, solitary man Thin to emaciation. But he owns himself without pride And grace becomes him. Is he nobody, with nothing But the hair on his head? Has he loved? Did she die? Does he mourn and carry her inside Reminding him of everything most cherished? Did they sit across a small table With gentle meals shared between Sinewy arms open to one another? Does he live with love still Nestled in gristle and bone? Is that his Grace? I will set out from my warm cottage To catch him up at the headland Where wind’s the fiercest. He can show me how to see My poverty as the evening sky Lit by first stars. On returning I shall light candles In every window So he might walk in. When has Grace not set us free Safe home from lonely years?
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