For Derek Walcott, the Nobel-prize winning poet we lost Friday on one of our last days of winter, from poetryfoundation.org. I sat next to him at dinner after a poetry workshop which William Logan had arranged for our class. Walcott carried his island with him and seemed like a man thoroughly at home anywhere.
from The Season of Phantasmal Peace / by Derek Walcott
there was no longer dusk, or season, decline, or weather,
only this passage of phantasmal light
that not the narrowest shadow dared to sever
Daily Poetry Fragments {Semi-Daily} 