Monday, January 24, 2011

if I could know

if I could know
in what language to address
the spirits that claim a place
beneath these low and simple ceilings,
tenants that neither speak nor stir
yet dwell in mute insistence
till I can feel utterly ghosted in this house.
     —From “Toward the Solstice,” by Adrienne Rich

(from Poetry Magazine)

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