Baba, You came today,
the mist upon the hay.
Beneath the clouds, You came,
a brightness in the grey.
Dressed in white, a blossom,
You trembled on the spray.
A king, You came, stuffing
with apples my hut's doorway.
A full-moon tide, You came,
flooding into the bay.
You came as a saint? From me
a saint would turn away.
As God? If so, in osiers
reddening with May.
You came to Davis, Baba,
as rain fell on the clay.
