COPYRIGHT Poem-a-Day Collection by Knopf. Compilation copyright 2009 by Knopf. All Rights Reserved. Sharing not permitted.
The Midnight Club
Poems by Mark Strand
The gifted have told us for years that they want to be loved For what they are, that they, in whatever fullness is theirs, Are perishable in twilight, just like us. So they work all night In rooms that are cold and webbed with the moon's light; Sometimes, during the day, they lean on their cars, And stare into the blistering valley, glassy and golden, But mainly they sit, hunched in the dark, feet on the floor, Hands on the table, shirts with a bloodstain over the heart.
I Had Been a Polar Explorer
I had been a polar explorer in my youth and spent countless days and nights freezing in one blank place and then another. Eventually, I quit my travels and stayed at home, and there grew within me a sudden excess of desire, as if a brilliant stream of light of the sort one sees within a diamond were passing through me. I filled page after page with visions of what I had witnessed— groaning seas of pack ice, giant glaciers, and the windswept white of icebergs. Then, with nothing more to say, I stopped and turned my sights on what was near. Almost at once, a man wearing a dark coat and broad-brimmed hat appeared under the trees in front of my house. The way he stared straight ahead and stood, not shifting his weight, letting his arms hang down at his side, made me think that I knew him. But when I raised my hand to say hello, he took a step back, turned away, and started to fade as longing fades until nothing is left of it.
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