is and is and is...

from Tortures

Nothing has changed.
Except the run of rivers,
the shapes of forests, shores, deserts, and glaciers.
The little soul roams among those landscapes,
disappears, returns, draws near, moves away,
evasive and a stranger to itself,
now sure, now uncertain of it own existence,
whereas the body is and is and is
and has nowhere to go.

          (Trans. Stanislaw BaraƄczak & Clare Cavanagh)


poet with a day job said...

What a terrific nugget...

sam of the ten thousand things said...

Thanks, Melissa.