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In the end, I made myself Known to your wife as A god would, in her own house, in Ithaca, a voice Without a body: she Paused in her weaving, her head turning First to the right, then left Though it was hopeless of course To trace that sound to any Objective source: I doubt She will return to her loom With what she knows now. When You see her again, tell her This is how a god says goodbye: If I am in her head forever I am in your life forever.
Louise Gluck
Read poems about / on: house, god, grief, life
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