Almighty death invited me many times:
it was like the hidden salt in waves,
and its invisible flavors tasted
like collapsing shipwrecks and summits
or vast structures made by wind and snowdrifts.

I came to the iron edge, to the thinness
of air, to the shroud of farms and stones,
the starry void of the final steps
before the dizzying spiral road:
but wide sea, O death!, you don’t come in waves
but rather like clear twilight galloping
or like the infinite host of the night.
Please log in to access the full content.
If you are new to Narrative, signing up is FREE and easy.