We have done what we wanted.

We have discarded dreams, preferring the heavy industry

of each other, and we have welcomed grief

and called ruin the impossible habit to break.

And now we are here.

The dinner is ready and we cannot eat.

The meat sits in the white lake of its dish.

The wine waits.

Coming to this

has its rewards: nothing is promised, nothing is taken away.

We have no heart or saving grace,

no place to go, no reason to remain.

— “Coming to This”, Mark Strand


Photo by Sean Servis


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