May 18, 2011 at 4:43 pm (It's all about me)

I came across this Tennessee Williams poem in an old copy of the New Yorker and fell in love even before I determined it fitting for that whole Rapture thing going down on Saturday.

Suppose that
                              everything that greens and grows
should blacken in one moment, flower and branch.
I think that I would find your blinded hand.
Suppose that your cry and mine were lost among numberless cries
                 in a city of fire when the earth is afire,
I must still believe that somehow I would find your blinded hand.
                 Through flames everywhere
                    consuming earth and air
I must believe that somehow, if only one moment were offered,
    I would
                                find your hand.
I know as, of course, you know
                                the immeasurable wilderness that would exist
                  in the moment of fire.
But I would hear your cry and you’d hear mine and each of us
   would find
                  the other’s hand.
                                    We know
                  that it might not be so.
                                    But for this quiet moment, if only for this
                                        moment,
And against all reason,
                  let us believe, and believe in our hearts,
                  that somehow it would be so.
                  I’d hear your cry, you mine –
                                    And each of us would find a blinded hand.
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