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on their backs.
How long then short the days grow across the Earth.
How deeply the sky folds into itself to sweeten the hurt.
How silently the dust sings to make us dance.
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In memory of Russell Banks
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Chard deNiord’s many books include In My Unknowing (Pitt, 2020). He is the former Poet Laureate of Vermont (2015-2019).
Our humanities are diminishing with each loss…”each man’s grief is my own…
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Yes, they are. Thank you, Daphne.
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This poem makes me think of Donald Hall in his essay “Poetry: The Unsayable Said” telling us, “Yes, it’s true: When we read poems we often feel more emotion than we can reasonably account for.”
As with this lovely poem ❤️
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Well-said, Lisa!
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Dear Russ. Dear you for that poem, friend!
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Thanks, Laure-Anne.
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Grief, resignation, peace. Beautifully done. Exquisite.
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Yes, a perfect minimalist elegy.
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