“One life is not enough.
I’d like to live twice on this sad planet,
In lonely cities, in starved villages…” – Czesław Miłosz
In the creak and give of floorboards,
hollow of trees felled by storms,
fists of despots, palms of departing lovers,
click of deadbolts, swing of doors;
In the purr and pant of aging pets,
hush and sweep of forgotten tombs,
sway of ships at night,
darkening of sunset in quiet waters;
In the sweet-smelling rot of discarded apples,
shimmer of heat rising from denuded lands,
diesel roar of trains disappearing in distance,
tremor of aftershocks, of cello strings;
In the splatter of blood, of ink, of midnight rains,
buzz and throb of wasps, of poked-at hives,
opening of veins, rip and tear of mail,
lick and seal of unsent letters, locked away;
In the reading of wills, of eulogies, of elegies,
caw and cry of wild, dangerous birds-of-prey,
tantrums of children, sadness of hospice,
strange warp and bend of space-time—
in all this, what foreboding and thrill!
There are myriad ways to die
yet I remain—marvelously—alive.
