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More poems by Louise GlückLouise Glück | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Louise GlückBooks by Louise Glück


Louise Glück

In the early evening, a now, as man is bending
over his writing table.
Slowly he lifts his head; a woman
appears, carrying roses.
Her face floats to the surface of the mirror,
marked with the green spokes of rose stems.

It is a form
of suffering: then always the transparent page
raised to the window until its veins emerge
as words finally filled with ink.

And I am meant to understand
what binds them together
or to the gray house held firmly in place by dusk

because I must enter their lives:
it is spring, the pear tree
filming with weak, white blossoms.

Added: 9 Jan 2002 | Last Read: 21 Mar 2018 3:10 AM | Viewed: 4842 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/2358/ | Viewed on 21 March 2018.
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