Old Days
"I am writing from a place you have never been,
Where the trains don’t run, and planes
Don’t land, a place to the west [...]"
Where the trains don’t run, and planes
Don’t land, a place to the west [...]"
"I would like to be
In that solitude of soundless things, in the random
Company of the wind, to be weightless, nameless."
In that solitude of soundless things, in the random
Company of the wind, to be weightless, nameless."
"Is dark, in which the sky is great, the old heart
That murmurs to me of what cannot go on,
Of the dancing, of the inmost dancing."
That murmurs to me of what cannot go on,
Of the dancing, of the inmost dancing."
"I have just said good-bye to a friend
And am staring at fields of cornstalks.
Their stubble is being burned, and the smoke
And am staring at fields of cornstalks.
Their stubble is being burned, and the smoke
Forms a gauze over the sun’s blank face."
(Mark Strand, After Our Planet)
