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I empty myself of the names of others. I empty my pockets.
I empty my shoes and leave them beside the road
At night I turn back the clocks;
I open the family album and look at myself as a boy.
What good does it do? The hours have done their job.
I say my own name. I say goodbye.
The words follow each other downwind.
I love my wife but send her away.
My parents rise out of their thrones
into the milky rooms of clouds. How can I sing?
Time tells me what I am. I change and I am the same.
I empty myself of my life and my life remains.
__________
“The Remains” by Mark Strand.
The picture was snapped in Houston, Texas.
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Filed under: Poetry Tagged: Mark Strand, Poem, Poet, poetry, The Remains Image may be NSFW.
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