Flight by Christian Wiman —
In the end we love the line love cannot cross.
In the end we fall for what we fail.
Forget friendship. Ardor.
Forget the years that only grow harder
as the soul recedes in what the years bring,
grown alien to any touchable thing.
Touch me. As I am. As you can.
My heart a bird’s heart just beyond your hand.
after Anna Akhmatova
More Poems
“Little Gidding” (T.S. Eliot) | “Leviathan” (George Oppen) | “Verisimilitude” (Stanley Plumly)
