Going On
One of Pyrrha’s stones
has turned into me. Harder I amthan those whom the waters took, or swaminto time like leaves … I am the cairnshe built for the drowned.
The poems in Going On make up a kind of logbook kept during the year before and six months after the death of the author’s wife in 1983. The result is a series of taut, moving poems that are as haunting as they are beautiful.
