Sometime in the last two weeks.
“A STONE FENCE
From there
The vast zone stretches.
It began to ruin.
A cross-shaped sword is sticked in.
It was hard and small.
Whitish clothes are folded there.
The third one is vacated not covered.
The stone fence is broken.
It was built again, being built again.
It was built.
The stone fence was built.
And the wind stole in and lodges.
Then the frozen evening squeezed in.”
—Zong-sam Gim
“Indeed if the worst conceivable situations which our humanity may have to confront lie beyond the scope of poetry, then poetry itself is a mere diversion.” —Kathleen Raine, The Inner Journey of the Poet
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