The street was white again,
all the bushes covered with heavy snow
and the trees glittering, encased in ice.
I lay in the dark, waiting for the night to end.
It seemed the longest night I had ever known,
longer than the night I was born
I write about you all the time, I said aloud.
Every time I say “I,” it refers to you.
– Louise Glück, from Visitors Abroad
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