Days

Leuconoë, stop examining your
Babylonian horoscopes
and wondering what kind of death
the gods have got in mind for us.

We’ll never know. Accept it.
This winter pummelling the ocean
on the pumice rocks of Tuscany
may be our last.

Or not. Be sensible and pour the wine.
This life’s too short for longing
and the clock spins as we speak.
Days come and go. Hold on to this one.

- Mark Haddon

(found on the back of a postcard of a child throwing a dozen white doves into the air, written in Glebe’s beautiful tiny print, that was tucked into the cover of a book. As I took the book from the bookshelf, to throw in my backpack to take overseas, it fell onto the floor. It is signed, “pour the wine.”)

Posted in Textism on Friday January 29, 2010.