All I can do is take you to the edge
And throw a belvedere
Out on the void, fenced in with cabled steel,
So there is nothing which you need to fear –
As fear you will,
Like somebody marooned on a rock ledge.

This is what builders do: compose a space
For you to live inside
And be in body. They can give no more
Than wood or concrete, stone or brick provide.
All else they ignore,
Except to make a view out of a place.

What if the view were merely space? What if
Odd atmospheric freaks –
Stray clouds, perhaps a viscous film of mist –
Were all that filled it? Floating, the snow peaks
Barely exist –
Far less than we do, grounded in this cliff.

Send Letters To:

The Editor
London Review of Books,
28 Little Russell Street
London, WC1A 2HN

letters@lrb.co.uk

Please include name, address, and a telephone number.

Read anywhere with the London Review of Books app, available now from the App Store for Apple devices, Google Play for Android devices and Amazon for your Kindle Fire.

Sign up to our newsletter

For highlights from the latest issue, our archive and the blog, as well as news, events and exclusive promotions.

Newsletter Preferences