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 (15)

Awesome poem with great detail! Love it!
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!
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