“Even this late it
happens:
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow's dust flares into breath.”— Canadian-born American poet, essayist, and translator Mark Strand (1934-2014), “The Coming of Light,” in The Late Hour: Poems (2002)
the coming of love, the coming of light.
You wake and the candles are lit as if by themselves,
stars gather, dreams pour into your pillows,
sending up warm bouquets of air.
Even this late the bones of the body shine
and tomorrow's dust flares into breath.”— Canadian-born American poet, essayist, and translator Mark Strand (1934-2014), “The Coming of Light,” in The Late Hour: Poems (2002)
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