Reading WS Merwin at work

Sinking in a sponge
of soft murmurs
Circling circuitous
words of the dead
My grip slips loose
from the coma of passion
Leaving only an echo
behind, ahead

Notes: WS Merwin wrote several poems about feeling like time was running out, and having a sense of purpose that would remain unfulfilled in his lifetime. By ‘coma’ I mean the space around a comet, as well as the state of being in a coma.

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