The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper,
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole--- A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
Blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars
Letting in the light, peephole after peephole--- A bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
( Sylvia Plath )
[ The Collected Poems ]
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