The PredictionMark Strand
That night the moon drifted over the pond,
turning the water to milk, and under
the boughs of the trees, the blue trees
a young woman walked, and for an instantthe future came to her:rain falling on her husband’s grave, rain fallingon the lawns of her children, her own mouthfilling with cold air, strangers moving into her housea man in her room writing a poem, the moon drifting into it,a woman strolling under its trees, thinking of death,thinking of him thinking of her, and the wind risiingand taking the moon and leaving the paper dark.(1937)
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