Mark Strand - Morning, Noon, and Night
Mark Strand - Morning, Noon, and Night stories

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**I** AND THE morning green, and the buildup of weather, and my brows
Source: dinkysniff

Mark Strand - Morning, Noon, and Night

by dinkysniff


AND THE morning green, and the buildup of weather, and my brows

Have not been brushed, and never will be, by the breezes of divinity.

That much is clear, at least to me, but yesterday I noticed

Something floating in and out of clouds, something like a bird,

But also like a man, black-suited, with his arms outspread.

And I thought this could be a sign that I've been wrong. Then I woke,

And on my bed the shadow of the future fell, and on the liquid ruins

Of the sea outside, and on the shells of buildings at the water's edge.

A rapid overcast blew in, bending trees and flattening fields. I stayed in bed,

Hoping it would pass. What might have been still waited for its chance.


WHATEVER the star charts told us to watch for or the maps

Said we would find, nothing prepared us for what we discovered.

We toiled away in the shadowless depths of noon,

While an alien wind slept in the branches, and dead leaves

Turned to dust in the streets. Cities of light, long summers

Of leisure were not to be ours; for to come as we had, long after

It mattered, to live among tombs, great as they are,

Was to be no nearer the end, no farther from where we began.


THESE NIGHTS of pinks and purples vanishing, of freakish heat

That strokes our skin until we fall asleep and stray to places

We hoped would always be beyond our reach - the deeps

Where nothing flourishes, where everything that happens seems

To be for keeps, We sweat, and plead to be released

Into the coming day on time, and panic at the thought

Of never getting there and being forced to drift forgotten

On a midnight sea where every thousand years a ship is sighted, or a swan,

Or a drowned swimmer whose imagination has outlived his fate, and who swims

To prove, to no one in particular, how false his life had been.

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