The Night Migrations Louise Glück This is the moment when you see again the red berries of the mountain ash and in the dark sky the birds night migrations. It grieves me to think the dead wont see them— these things we depend on, they disappear. What will the soul do for solace then? I tell myself maybe it wont need these pleasures anymore; maybe just not being is simply enough, hard as that is to imagine.
Posted on: Wed, 02 Apr 2014 14:13:31 +0000
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