Monday, April 28, 2008

Poetry Month

Bent with worry
by Marina Tsvetaeva (translated by Elaine Feinstein)

Bent with worry, God
paused, to smile.
And look, there were many
holy angels with bodies of

the radiance he had
given them,
some with enormous wings and
others without any,

which is why I weep
so much
because even more than God
himself I love his fair angels.

Who are the angels? Babies, dogs, friends?

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