I don't understand this uncontainable grief,
What summons its return from forgetfulness.
Ah, dear ones, I remember too much,
The scholar I had been waiting for all of my life,
The one reader who understood the language
And deciphered its mysteries, blood of my blood,
Lost forever in the heart of a great city.
Let what rises live with what descends.
Awaiting the sunrise with its bandages of light,
I can feel the dark sky tilting on one wing,
Shuddering with rain coming down around me.
–with images collected from 30 years of Edward Hirsch's
work, assembled and shaped to speak personal truth.
