This is one of the most beautiful poems recently
written in this country, in my opinion.
It's called "The Life."
And it's by James Wright.
"Murdered, I went, risen where the murderers
are, that black ditch of river.
And if I come back to my only country with a white
rose on my shoulder, what is that to you?
It is the grave in blossom.
It is the trillium of darkness.
It is hell.
It is the beginning of winter.
It is a ghost town of Etruscans that have no name anymore.
It is the old loneliness.
It is, and it is the last time."