Adrienne Rich

It’s with great sadness that I write in here today. My favorite present day poet has died. I will forever be touched by your words Adrienne Rich.

Since we’re not young, weeks have to do time 
for years of missing each other. Yet only this odd warp
in time tells me we’re not young. 
Did I ever walk the morning streets at twenty, 
my limbs streaming with a purer joy? 
did I lean from any window over the city
listening for the future
as I listen here with nerves tuned for your ring? 
And you, you move toward me with the same tempo. 
Your eyes are everlasting, the green spark
of the blue-eyed grass of early summer, 
the green-blue wild cress washed by the spring. 
At twenty, yes: we thought we’d live forever. 
At forty-five, I want to know even our limits. 
I touch you knowing we weren’t born tomorrow, 
and somehow, each of us will help the other life, 
and somewhere, each of us must help the other die.