Aug 12
FATHOMS
Young I visited
this pool; asked my question,
passed on. In the middle years
visited it again. The question 
had sunk down, hardly
a ripple. To be no longer
young, yet not to be old
is a calm without
equal. The water ticks on,
but time stands, fingerless.
Today, thirty years
later, on the margin
of eternity, dissolution,
nothing but the self
looking up at the self
looking down, with each 
refusing to become 
an object, so with the Dane’s 
help, from bottomless fathoms
I dredge up the truth.
- R.S. Thomas, “No Truce with the Furies” (1995)

FATHOMS
Young I visited
this pool; asked my question,
passed on. In the middle years
visited it again. The question
had sunk down, hardly
a ripple. To be no longer
young, yet not to be old
is a calm without
equal. The water ticks on,
but time stands, fingerless.
Today, thirty years
later, on the margin
of eternity, dissolution,
nothing but the self
looking up at the self
looking down, with each
refusing to become
an object, so with the Dane’s
help, from bottomless fathoms
I dredge up the truth.
- R.S. Thomas, “No Truce with the Furies” (1995)

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