Youth

And I was young once.

___

I was. I lost. I sang. I knew. I ever hope for that strange autumn light again with the good dog again with the thousands of years. Scrap of [me] off Eurydice torn. Her number I lost her lark I shot and she a pulse. History never looks so possible as when leaving a heart spilt among the stones crying Don’t read it again it was perfect

- Anne Carson