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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=450069" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Summer</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=450069" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Remember the days of our first happiness,<br>how strong we were, how dazed by passion,<br>lying all day, then all night in the narrow bed,<br>sleeping there, eating there too: it was summer,<br>it seemed everything had ripened<br>at once. And so hot we lay completely uncovered.<br>Sometimes the wind rose; a willow brushed the window.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=450069" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">But we were lost in a way, didn't you feel that?<br>The bed was like a raft; I felt us drifting<br>far from our natures, toward a place where we'd discover nothing.<br>First the sun, then the moon, in fragments,<br>stone through the willow.<br>Things anyone could see.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=450069" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Then the circles closed. Slowly the nights grew cool;<br>the pendant leaves of the willow<br>yellowed and fell. And in each of us began<br>a deep isolation, though we never spoke of this,<br>of the absence of regret.<br>We were artists again, my husband.<br>We could resume the journey.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=450069" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><br>Anonymous submission.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Louise+Gluck">Louise Gluck</a></strong></div>