More Lines Suggested by Harry Martinson

In the islands you see the bravest birds
And they are strangely like you—

A nakedness, a hunger…
This is what our refusal to die really is

A red memory surrounded by light
And I imagine yes, I will never get home

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto