I
At the edge
of the body’s night
ten moons are rising.
2
A scar remembers the wound.
The wound remembers the pain.
Once more you are crying.
3
When we walk in the sun
our shadows are like barges of silence.
4
My body lies down
and I hear my own
voice lying next to me.— Mark Strand, excerpt from Seven Poems
(Source: poetryfoundation.org, via regardingproximity)
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I At the edge of the body’s night ten moons are rising. 2 A scar remembers the wound. The wound remembers the pain. Once...
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