Marie Ponsot, who turns 91 this month, still treads with sprightly step as she delivers her incomparable wisdom.
- Knopf Poetry Team
***
A Rune, Interminable
Low above the moss a sprig of scarlet berries
soon eaten or blackened
tells time.
Go to a wedding
as to a funeral:
bury the loss.
Go to a funeral
as to a wedding:
marry the loss.
Go to a coming
as to a going:
unhurrying.
Time is winter-green.
Seeds keep time.
Time, so kept, carries us
across to no-time where
no time is lost.
