Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscrib’d
In one self place; but where we are is hell,
And where hell is, there must we ever be.
“Forever and ever” means that time has come to an end.
Above the lawn the wild beetles mate
and mate, skew their tough wings
and join. They light in our hair,
on our arms, fall twirling and twinning
into our laps. And below us, in the grass,
the bugs are seeking each other out,
antennae lifted and trembling, tiny legs
scuttling, then the infinitesimal
ah’s of their meeting, the awkward joy
of their turnings around. O end to end
they meet again and swoon as only bugs can.
This is why, sometimes, the grass feels electric
under our feet, each blade quivering, and why
the air comes undone over our heads
and washes down around our ears like rain.
But it has to be spring, and you have to be
in love—acutely, painfully, achingly in love—
to hear the black-robed choir of their sighs.
History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake.
I’ve decided I want to move to Scotland when I graduate. No plans - just go somewhere new where I don’t know anyone and see what happens.
But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home
To a leaky castle across the sea,
To lie awake in linen smelling of lavender,
And hear the nightingale, and long for me.