Adrienne Rich — Confrontations

It’s not new, this condition, just for awhile kept deep in the cortex of things imagined Now the imagination comes of age I see ourselves, full-lipped, blood-flushed in cold air, still conflicted, still embraced boarding the uncharter’d bus of vanishment backward glances over and done afterimages swirl and dissolve along a shoal of footprints Simple ghouls flitter already among our leavings fixing labels in their strange language But up to now we’re not debris (only to their fascinated eyes)