by Adam Zagajewski
For example, with someone who no longer is,
who exists only in yellowed letters.
Or long walks beside a stream,
whose depths hold hidden
porcelain cups—and the talks about philosophy
with a timid student or the postman.
A passerby with proud eyeswhom you'll never know.
Here's the rest of the poem.
And here's mine:
I dreamed about you last night,
but I can’t remember it.
There was something about looking for you,
and not being able to find you,
and being abandoned and lost and forgotten.
And when I awoke,
Even the dream was gone.
Ruth, from thereisnosuchthingasagodforsakentown.blogspot.com
Irene has the roundup today.