There are poems we love
in which nothing is fixed
in time: the words are
of the past as much as they are
of the present, and their future
hovers nearby, visible to those
with eyes to see. What I want is
the collapse of time upon itself,
so that the present time of remembering
merges with past time of acting, and
the two become one. I will say this
as simply as possible: I want to touch
the flesh of those people who occupy
my mind, I want to close the gap
between flesh and thought, between now
and then. I don’t want to sleep and
dream of our common pleasures while
they suffer and feel the sharp edge
of immediate sorrow and are bound
to grief. I am human too, I must
suffer alongside them…
Life is doing what you will
in the time before Death drops
into the scene, and says casually,
because he is inevitable:
OK, folks, it’s over. Wrap
it up, get ready to move out.
The Crossing Part One
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