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July 8,2015

 

Mark Strand(Canada,1934-2014)

 

So you say

 

It is all in the mind, you say, and has
nothing to do with happiness. The coming of cold,
the coming of heat, the mind has all the time in the world.
You take my arm and say something will happen,
something unusual for which we were always prepared,
like the sun arriving after a day in Asia,
like the moon departing after a night with us. 

Breath

 

When you see them
tell them I am still here,
that I stand on one leg while the other one dreams, 
that this is the only way, 

that the lies I tell them are different 
from the lies I tell myself, 
that by being both here and beyond 
I am becoming a horizon, 

that as the sun rises and sets I know my place, 
that breath is what saves me, 
that even the forced syllables of decline are breath, 
that if the body is a coffin it is also a closet of breath,

that breath is a mirror clouded by words, 
that breath is all that survives the cry for help 
as it enters the stranger's ear 
and stays long after the world is gone, 

that breath is the beginning again, that from it 
all resistance falls away, as meaning falls 
away from life, or darkness fall from light, 
that breath is what I give them when I send my love 

Keeping Things Whole  

 

In a field
I am the absence
of field.
This is
always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
and always
the air moves in
to fill the spaces
where my body's been.

We all have reasons
for moving.
I move
to keep things whole. 

 

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