Sunday, June 13
What is left is what's alive in me. The failing
of your beauty and its remaining.
You are like countries in which my love
took place. Like a bell in the trees
that makes your music in each wind that moves.
A music composed of what you have forgotten.
That will end with my ending.
-- Jack Gilbert, lines from "Cherishing What Isn't" The Dance Most of All
The Dance Most of All
Posted by rb at 6/13/2010