Friday, April 5, 2013


is a thing that you feel.
And so often I feel things that there are no words for;
I feel so much that words can’t even begin to describe.
There is a depth to each human being that is comparable not even to an ocean—
this depth is beyond the ocean,
beyond the very borders of the stars.
There is a depth to you
that I can never hope to attain
and a depth to me
that you can never understand;
and our terrifying depravity
and our infinite magnificence
both go down together
seemingly infinite and

Poetry is
, I think,
an attempt to see a little bit farther into that depth . . .
but there are some things
that even poetry
cannot illuminate

(like that feeling I ache with when I see you kill yourself again tonight
or that feeling that washes over me when your arm creeps round my waist in midnight darkness
or that feeling that seizes me when I realize we aren’t actually eternal.
For those—
for those there are no words).

No comments:

Post a Comment