Contents Index of titles
Index of first lines PDF version of this poem
Concordance Random poem
Now and Then
Death’s paradox dissolves our clear ‘to be’:
Their not being, having been; yet, having been,
being. Loss love as love makes loss more keen:
in us they live, and thus more living we
… But what for them? A sleep without a dream?
Rather, without a dreamer. They do not sleep.
Body, borrowed from matter, to matter’s keep
returned we know; but of the deeper theme
—spirit, whence formed or fetched here, on what wing
(whole) or wind (scattered) whither—not a thing.
Yet peace, that keeps her nest unnoticed in
hearts holding memory along life’s increase
(and outsoars too these wars no one can win),
is for them also, knowing or nothing, peace.