"Everything has its limit..."

"Everything has its limit, including sorrow..."

-J. Brodsky

Everything has its limit, including sorrow.

It’s spreading and thinning in three dimensions.

But a trace will remain in the cells of your marrow

And your nerves will be quivering under its tension.

I would wrap your shoulders with a woolen shawl

And gather you in till the mortar has dried,

But the next coming wave is too much to forestall,

And I struggle for words that would help it subside.

Please forgive me for this. Life turned out unfair.

Some five hundred square miles of a rounding blunder.

And I’m blaming myself for the burden you bear

On your shoulders alone, and it tears me asunder.