A hundred miles
from wall to wall.
An eternity and a half of vigils
blanker than snow.
Tons of words
old as the tracks
of a platypus in the sand.
A hundred books we didn’t write.
A hundred pyramids we didn’t build.
Sweepings.
Dust.
Bitter
as the beginning of the world.
Believe me when I say
it was beautiful.
[Miroslav Holub {1923-1998} 'Love' {trans. from Czech by Ian Milner}, from Love Songs and Sonnets {Everyman's Library Pocket Poets}]
No comments:
Post a Comment