For a long time I kept away wounds With the passing of birds I was surrounded by air and feathers At present my skin is still intact But they have entered into me Sometimes they bleed, especially at night I still see the birds But I bleed as they fly When I merely hear them Without seeing them, at the heart of day I feel a little spared. * It seems impossible to go on, therefore, and yet you do. Why?
Because poetry could be of some help in confronting the unbearable. Confront is a big word.