The Dune by Susan Stewart | Poems Rethabile Likes
The Dune
by Susan Stewart
Now that the thread has caught
fire, the hem
falls ragged. Now
that the pain throbs
deep, the vein appears.
Vacant sky
above the funneled hours,
and grievous night.
Now that the little lies
accrue into
the vast incredulity,
fear on fear
swells, a wave. I'm
slipping down
the dune, or climbing,
I cannot tell,
while the small cries growing
smaller fly
by and vanish. Are they
gulls or drowning
children? Who was meant
to hear and who
to act? The spare grass
white beside
the carapace emerging.
The shell cuts
its form into the strand
and stays.
When you saw the blue flower
far within the bramble,
you knew at last
the permanence of sand.
And I was the ghost, and
you were the tomb,
then you were the ghost,
and I was the tomb.
fire, the hem
falls ragged. Now
that the pain throbs
deep, the vein appears.
Vacant sky
above the funneled hours,
and grievous night.
Now that the little lies
accrue into
the vast incredulity,
fear on fear
swells, a wave. I'm
slipping down
the dune, or climbing,
I cannot tell,
while the small cries growing
smaller fly
by and vanish. Are they
gulls or drowning
children? Who was meant
to hear and who
to act? The spare grass
white beside
the carapace emerging.
The shell cuts
its form into the strand
and stays.
When you saw the blue flower
far within the bramble,
you knew at last
the permanence of sand.
And I was the ghost, and
you were the tomb,
then you were the ghost,
and I was the tomb.
From Bramble, University of Chicago Press, 2026. Copyright © 2026 by Susan Stewart
Adapted from Victor Hugo's "Paroles sur la Dune."
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