Mark Strand

The Remains

by Mark Strand

I empty myself of the names of others.
I empty my pockets.

I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road.

At night I turn back the clocks;
I open the family album and look at myself as a boy.


What good does it do? The hours have done their job.

I say my own name.
I say goodbye.

The words follow each other downwind.

I love my wife but send her away.


My parents rise out of their thrones
into the milky rooms of clouds.
How can I sing?
Time tells me what I am.
I change and I am the same.

I empty myself of my life and my life remains.