you're not alone
the way you feel
The music you hear
Beneath every other music
across the white fields
above the bare-treed ridges
The colors you see
Beneath the red and green
you're not alone
the wounds inflicted
Unintended unintended
Sleep and wake and sleep and wake and sleep
vanished beauty
broken hearts
Everything not nature falls away
What you are soon must recede
looking at the living
wishing for the dead
The illusion of rescue the rescue of illusion.
—after reading Frank Bidart's collected poems, 1965-2016.
