Tuesday, May 21, 2024



75. The Warmest Place

If spring falls short, then be the spring yourself —

you hold abundant light inside, enough to give warmth

to whatever's within reach and even what's in view:

chair midriff, door slab, icicle knob, room.

Who cares if the Baltic is frozen — a Swedish arctic fox

has found a way across the page of ice to write

a runic greeting on the snow in yellow ink

below the lamppost. The coldest place at home

is the radiator's hip, the thermal plant having closed

long ago, and it's pointless to pin your hopes

on spring. Besides you hold within yourself,

enough fire to make the covers melt right off

and thaw the district to a mile radius,

plus a fair depth, and four more dimension besides.

Just for good measure. For starters. Be springtime,

the grass' green flame, its blood, be April, be sun.

92. Never

Never have I found you more beautiful than now.

Look — we're being hunted, yet still we walk around.

In front of us a road in the dust, a lively sea.

A life that turned out as I dreamed it would be.


To the Letter

Tomasz Rozycki

translated from the Polish by Mira Rosenthal

Archipelago Books, 2023