The Last Line Poem by Abraham Sutzkever

Dark. The last, the primeval last line,
Crystal-unique, quivers on high.
It glitters three times in the air
And teaches me, flickering deep in my eye:

Last is first. My rest is running.
And had not the void been shaped by my rhythm —
You could never have touched the palpable line
That trembles in man and draws him, is with him.

— Line, you are right, be blessed, for in me
Your colorful treasures you sparkle and flutter.
But if I crumble into glowing dust —
Where will you carry my human shudder?

1949