Love Found

You will love again the stranger who was your self.

Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored

for another, who knows you by heart.

Take down the love-letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,

peel your own image from the mirror.

Sit. Feast on your life.

by Joseph Brodsky

If you were drowning, I’d come to the rescue,

wrap you in my blanket and pour hot tea.

If I were a sheriff, I’d arrest you

and keep you in the cell under lock and key.

If you were a bird, I’d cut a record

and listen all night to your high-pitched trill.

If I were a sergeant, you’d be my recruit,

and boy I can assure you you’d love the drill.

If you were Chinese, I’d learn the languages,

burn a lot of incense, wear funny clothes.

If you were a mirror, I’d storm the Ladies’,

give you my red lipstick and puff your nose.

If you loved volcanoes, I’d be lava

relentlessly erupting from my hidden source.

And if you were my wife, I’d be your lover

because the church is firmly against divorce.

Do not stand at my grave and weep

I am not there; I do not sleep.

I am a thousand winds that blow,

I am the diamond glints on snow,

I am the sun on ripened grain,

I am the gentle autumn rain.

When you awaken in the morning’s hush

I am the swift uplifting rush

Of quiet birds in circled flight.

I am the soft stars that shine at night.

Do not stand at my grave and cry,

I am not there; I did not die.