thoughts of a solitary farmhouse

 

 

 

 

 

And not to feel bad about dying.
Not to take it so personally -

it is only
the force we exert all our lives

to exclude death from our thoughts
that confronts us, when it does arrive,

as the horror of being excluded -
something like that, the Canadian wind

coming in off Lake Erie
rattling the windows, horizontal snow

appearing out of nowhere
across the black highway and fields
like billions of white bees.

 

 

 

 
- Franz Wright

from Ill Lit: Selected and New Poems

photo by Ed Varsson

with thanks to whiskey river