To raise the veil. To see what you're saying goodbye to. - Louise Glück

Summer after summer has ended,
balm after violence:
it does me no good to be good to me now;
violence has changed me.

The books [poetry collections] may not sell, but neither are they given away or thrown away. They tend, more than other books, to fall apart in their owners’ hands. Not I suppose good news in a culture and economy built on obsolescence. But for a book to be loved this way and turned to this way for consolation and intense renewable excitement seems to me a marvel.

You lay beside me; your hand moved over my face
as though you had felt it also — you must have known, then, how I wanted you.
We will always know that, you and I.
The proof will be my body.