When somewhere life

breaks the pane of glass,

and from every direction casual

voices are bringing you the news,

you say: I should have known.

You say: I should have been aware.

That last Friday he looked

so ill, like an old mountain-climber

lost on the white trails, listening

to the ice breaking upward, under

his worn-out shoes. You say:

I heard rumors of trouble, but after all

we all have that. You say:

What could I have done? and you go

with the rest, to bury him.

That night, you turn in your bed

to watch the moon rise, and once more

see what a small coin it is

against the darkness, and how everything else

is a mystery, and you know

nothing at all except

the moonlight is beautiful-

white rivers running together

along the bare boughs of the trees-

and somewhere, for someone, life

is becoming moment by moment

unbearable.

From Architecture of Density

I am the man. I suffered,

I was there.

-Whitman