Saturday, January 26, 2008

lost in translation
These days which, like yourself,
Seem empty and effaced
Have avid roots that delve
To work deep in the waste.
But nothing's lost. Or else: all is translation
And every bit of us is lost in it...
And in that loss a self-effacing tree,
Color of context, imperceptibly
Rustling with its angel, turns the waste
To shade and fiber, milk and memory.
~james merrill

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