Eliza Griswold

I don't know much about this poet, but I read this poem in The New Yorker about three years ago and it has stayed with me ever since. I just think it's complete perfection. I hope you enjoy it as well.

Tigers

by Eliza Griswold

What are we now but voices
who promise each other
a life neither one can deliver
not for lack of wanting
but wanting can't make it so.
We hang from a vine
at the cliff's edge.
There are tigers above
and below. Let us love
one another and let go.