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“Our dead are lost, aren't they? There is always some mistake: lost down a well, lost in the woods. Lost for words, lost to the world, we'll never make up for lost time. The sheep, the baby, the prodigal son, wandering beyond our imaginings, along the border of our grief and need.” — Michelle Peñaloza
Our dead are lost, aren't they?
There is always some mistake:
lost down a well, lost in the woods.
Lost for words, lost to the world,
we'll never make up for lost time.
The sheep, the baby, the prodigal son,
wandering beyond our imaginings,
along the border of our grief and need.