The Silence

The one child having in manner of speaking fled,
his brother ran out to the porch to call him back;
Philip! he cried out, Philip! I caught him up,
thinking if ever the dead were to be recalled

it would be in a similar voice flung confident
into that raving light. Since then
each fall when the woods have darkened with color
the horror has been absurdly to wonder

if I in my sternest father's voice
had commanded into the bloodied gullet of the day
Come back! Come back! he might have heard.
But up on the hill

the pines had strained to a power of wind.
Come back! I might have cried, but I did not,
and silence stormed. Meanwhile
he is speechless, dark, of no intent.