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1 " Nothing is left in my memoryof a summerthat promised nothing.except the ominousend of it. But I remember clearlythat autumn when darkness cameto lend its cover to a killing seasonseeing at last these ill-at-ease petalsestranged from moonlight and still related to it: outcasts of metal, of steel "
― Eavan Boland , A Woman Without a Country: Poems
2 " Eurydice Speaks”How will I know you in the underworld?How will we find each other?We lived for so long on the physical earth—Our skies littered with actual starsPractical tides in our bay—What will we do with the loneliness of the mythical?Walking beside ditches brimming with dactyls,By a ferryman whose feet are scanned for himOn the shore of a river written and rewrittenAs elegy, epic, epode.Remember the thin air of our earthly winters?Frost was an iron, underhand descent.Dusk was always in sessionAnd no one needed to write downOr restate, or make record of, or ever would,And never will,The plainspoken music of recognition,Nor the way I often stood at the window—The hills growing dark, saying,As a shadow became a strideAnd a raincoat was woven out of streetlightI would know you anywhere. "