Tonight's poem is by Marguerite Young (1908-1995), a descendant of Brigham Young who in her incredibly poetic novels, poetry and non-fiction always seemed obsessed with how doggedly humans pursue utopian ideals. As she said, "All my writing is about the recognition that there is no single reality. But the beauty of it is that you nevertheless go on, walking towards utopia, which may not exist, on a bridge which might end before you reach the other side."
My friend John Latta posted a wonderful poem of hers from 1944 called The Cloud that I liked so much I decided to read it ... out loud.
