Carcanet Poetry

This is why we search for love.
We search for it all of our lives,
even after we find it.

Outside the car, the cows and pastures are drifting away;
they look calm, but calm is not the truth.
Despair is the truth. This is what
mother and father know. All hope is lost.

And yet, more often we were silent, preferring
the river over anything we could say—