(no subject)

[sylphbranching.livejournal.com]

Body Through Which the Dream Flows
Robert Hass

You count up everything you have
or have let go.
What's left is the lost and the possible.
To the lost, the irretrievable
or just out of reach, you say:
light loved the pier, the seedy
string quartet of thee sun going down over water
that gilds ants and beach fleas
ecstatic and communal on the stiffened body
of a dead grebe washed ashore
by last night's storm. Idiot sorrow,
an irregular splendor, is the half-sister
of these considerations.
To the possible you say nothing.
October on the planet.
Huge moon, bright stars.

Comments

[nepal.livejournal.com]

i had bob hass as a professor for a poetry workshop last semester. he's wonderful in person and a spectacular poet.

thanks