After Years

Today, from a distance, I saw you
walking away, and without a sound
the glittering face of a glacier
slid into the sea. An ancient oak
fell in the Cumberlands, holding only
a handful of leaves, and an old woman
scattering corn to her chickens looked up
for an instant. At the other side
of the galaxy, a star thirty-five times
the size of our own sun exploded
and vanished, leaving a small green spot
on the astronomer's retina
as he stood on the great open dome
of my heart with no one to tell.

by Ted Kooser

Comments (14)

A powerful poem of personal loss. I am curious why you chose the other sun to be 35 times greater than our own, but I enjoyed the great way you put its explosion and demise as a green spot on the astronomer's retina, but no-one to tell, except us, your readers.
I love this poem. Beautiful, rich, the world of nature sounds lovely.
The depths a poet can cover with such nonchalance. Captured here in After years.
Excellent Metaphors, love it!
Abundant with great imagery. A really excellent poem. Andrew
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