A selection by contemporary poet, Susan Stewart -- also born in 1952, but alas, lost to academia -- from her volume, "The Forest." This is entitled "Cinder," and in a very short space, seems to say a lot about life, love, loss. There's no escape -- we all get burned in the end.
We needed the fire to make
the tongs and tongs to hold
us from the flame; we needed
ash to clean the cloth
and cloth to clean the ash's
stain; we needed stars
to find our way, to make
the light that blurred the stars:
we needed death to mark
an end, an end that time
in time would mend.
Born in love, the consequence --
born of love, the need.
Tell me, ravaged singer,
how the cinder bears the seed.
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