And slowly he starts to seem more far
away, he seems to waft, drift
at a distance, once-husband in his grey suit
with the shimmer to its weave - his hands at his sides,
as if on damselfly wings he seems
to be borne through the air past my window. And a breeze
takes him, up and about, he is like
a Chagall bridegroom, without the faith-
fulness, or with a faithfulness which can
change brides once, he is carried, on a current,
like a creature of a slightly other species,
speech unwoken, in him, as yet,
and without the weight to hold him to
the ground. ...
From a poem 'Slowly He Starts'
In the collection 'Stag's Leap'
By Sharon Olds
Published by Cape Poetry in 2012
I have found it incredibly hard to pick a section to write here. Just read the whole collection.
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