A poem about impermanence, our wish to keep things the way they are, our desire to control.
The Promise
Jane Hirshfield,
Stay, I said
to the cut flowers.
They bowed
their heads lower.
Stay, I said to the spider,
who fled.
Stay, leaf.
It reddened,
embarrassed for me and itself.
Stay, I said to my body.
It sat as a dog does,
obedient for a moment,
soon starting to tremble.
Stay, to the earth
of riverine valley meadows,
of fossiled escarpments,
of limestone and sandstone.
It looked back
with a changing expression, in
silence.
Stay, I said to my loves.
Each answered,
Always.
Come, Thief, Alfred
A. Knopf, 2011.
No comments:
Post a Comment