Tom

Tom
The Sun

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

A hole....

that can't be filled
Posted by at

1 comment:

  1. UnknownFebruary 1, 2011 at 2:07 PM

    End of Winter

    by Louise Glück

    Over the still world, a bird calls
    waking solitary among black boughs.

    You wanted to be born; I let you be born.
    When has my grief ever gotten
    in the way of your pleasure?

    Plunging ahead
    into the dark and light at the same time
    eager for sensation

    as though you were some new thing, wanting
    to express yourselves

    all brilliance, all vivacity

    never thinking
    this would cost you anything,
    never imagining the sound of my voice
    as anything but part of you—

    you won't hear it in the other world,
    not clearly again,
    not in birdcall or human cry,

    not the clear sound, only
    persistent echoing
    in all sound that means good-bye, good-bye—

    the one continuous line
    that binds us to each other.

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