"Reaching in with gloved hand, he rubbed
the name and date of a child that died beforethe age of one."
Then the poet allows the seasons to flow with their myriad gifts until we find him in #12 climbing out of the ravine toward home accompanied by a one-eyed tomcat whom he has named Marco Polo.
"The abbot admired the one-eyed wanderer
living his last season in retirement, and fed
him from the bag he kept behind the door."
Poem #16 brings us to "the frozen wanderer stiff as a board" after a snowy night and
the abbot took him to the lot of the empty houseacross the stream, where he stumbled on the child's headstone. R.I.P for Marco.a certain fate, an oracle of bones.
If you don't find him on the hill,
look in the ravine. In timetheir skeletons may intertwine
and stay still while the land worksits changes..."