Some bits from the poems of W.S Merwin.. Reading him is like holding conversations with oneself. The name of the first one is the title of the post.
On the door it says what to do
to survive,
But we were not born to survive
Only to live.
Separation
Your absence has gone through me
Like thread through a needle
Everything I do is stitched with
its colour
The Nails
And my only
chance is bleeding from me
When my one
chance is bleeding
For speaking either truth
or comfort,
I have no more tongue than
a wound.
