These meditative, emotional poems courageously confront the fear and longing that surrounded Zweig's own death, the death of family members, and a dying love, with a postscript that includes several unfinished poems.
These poems, like almost all of Heaney's, give me the impression of a side of life i don't know yet. They are the result of the adventures i am currently undertaking, so of course I can't understand them. They are for me an anticipation or a foretelling. Are they growth or just fruit, though?