Summer

By Louise Gluck

Remember the days of our first happiness,how strong we were, how dazed by passion,lying all day, then all night in the narrow bed,sleeping there, eating there too: it was summer,it seemed everything had ripenedat once. And so hot we lay completely uncovered.Sometimes the wind rose; a willow brushed the window.

But we were lost in a way, didn’t you feel that?The bed was like a raft; I felt us driftingfar from our natures, toward a place where we’d discover nothing.First the sun, then the moon, in fragments,stone through the willow.Things anyone could see.

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