T H E ㅤ W I L D ㅤ I R I S ㅤ

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At the end of my suffering

there was a door.

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Hear me out: that which you call death

I remember.

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Overhead, noises, branches of the pine shifting.

Then nothing. The weak sun

flickered over the dry surface.

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It is terrible to survive

as consciousness

buried in the dark earth.

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Then it was over: that which you fear, being

a soul and unable

to speak, ending abruptly, the stiff earth

bending a little. And what I took to be

birds darting in low shrubs.

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You who do not remember

passage from the other world

I tell you I could speak again: whatever

returns from oblivion returns

to find a voice:

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from the center of my life came

a great fountain, deep blue

shadows on azure seawater.

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ Louise Glück