To Louise Glück(1943-2023)
I read a love poem from an author
who died last year. A famous author,
if that matters. (We expect fame to give
something more; a gilding over human
feelings, deepening of emotion turning
shallow coastal waters into abyssal
plains.) A poem about making love
and leaving a mark, in flesh and written
word. And in mind, but that mind
which loved and lusted, remembered,
and created, is gone. The universe,
like a deciduous tree letting a leaf
burst on its branch, had already
allowed it to wither and fall. Those
hands that pulled a gown over her
head gone, the face that was touched
by a lover's hand, gone. They all exist
now - the hands, the face, the mind
the act - solely imprinted into words;
a fragile record of human experience,
as words too are mortal things like
human beings and their flesh and lust.
27.03.-02.04.2024
#Poem #Poems #Poetry #Verse
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