Hours Poem by Abraham Sutzkever
Hours
You remember when your hours
Were born one by one:
Every hour — another hue and fate.
Now you stand before the hours, stooped:
All the poisons mixed together
By a mad apothecary.
In a mortar, in the dark,
He mixes blindly and in haste:
Iron, pearls, herbs, narcotics,
All the There's and all the Here's,
In one potion that overpowers —
He lets you drink your hours.
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4/25/2024 12:38:04 PM # 1.0.0.1119
