I am as far as the deepest sky between clouds and you are as far as the deepest root and wound, and I am as far as a train at evening, as far as a whistle you can't hear or remember. You are as far as an unimagined animal who, frightened by everything, never appears. I am as far as cicadas and locusts and you are as far as the cleanest arrow that has sewn the wind to the light on the birch trees. I am as far as the sleep of rivers that stains the deepest sky between clouds, you are as far as invention, and I am as far as memory. You are as far as a red-marbled stream where children cut their feet on the stones and cry out. And I am as far as their happy mothers, bleaching new linen on the grass and singing, "You are as far as another life, as far as another life are you." And I am as far as an infinite alphabet made from yellow stars and ice, and you are as far as the nails of the dead man, as far as a sailor can see at midnight when he's drunk and the moon is an empty cup, and I am as far as invention and you are as far as memory. I am as far as the corners of a room where no one has ever spoken, as far as the four lost corners of the earth. And you are as far as the voices of the dumb, as the broken limbs of saints and soldiers, as the scarlet wing of the suicidal blackbird, I am farther and farther away from you. And you are as far as a horse without a rider can run in six years, two months and five days. I am as far as that rider, who rubs his eyes with his blistered hands, who watches a ghost don his jacket and boots and now stands naked in the road. As far as the space between word and word, as the heavy sleep of the perfectly loved and the sirens of wars no one living can remember, as far as this room, where no words have been spoken, you are as far as invention, and I am as far as memory.
Susan Stewart - 1952-
Four Lack Songs
Alack Alas Hammer to a copper bowl, someone left the light on. Touch against the thin wrist skin, and back again, and back again. Can't find the vein. Alack A Day Stiffing a filigree leaf, ribs align in alternity. Drop me a line, I am leaving— the har-dee-har men come soon. And once they are here, they are. A Daisy Soon the alterations are finished; she mends where fray yields to fringe. Wet thread creaks the slit like chalk on a board. There's no sense closing your ears. Lackadaisical You're just like the other, someone said. I hear you, but where are my shoes? I've looked every where. I've looked high and low and my feet are cold, and bare.