20.9.07

TID

1 Comments:

Anonymous D. Nurkse said...

(fra New York Times)

There Is No Time, She Writes


We have to bomb the rebel cities
from a great height, find shelter
for the refugees, carry a sick kitten
to the shade of a blighted elm,
fall in love, walk by the breakwater,
learn the words to separate,
marry, see a lawyer, grow old,

and always the wind seethes
in the bladelike leaves,
always the ant under its burden,
proud and indomitable, she writes,
always the faint music, the touch
of the other’s hand, and no way
to return, or even turn,
no way to face ourselves:

writing this, I pressed so hard
she says, the words are embedded
in the grain of the desk
and it is dark but I sense you
listening, trying to frame an answer
there where the dark turns inward
and a small bell chimes
in the stupefying heat.

20 september, 2007  

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