To Hear the Falling World

Only if I move my arm a certain way,

it comes back.

Or the way the light bends in the trees

this time of year,

so a scrap of sorrow, like a bird, lights on the heart.

I carry this in my body, seed

in an unswept corner, husk-encowled and seeming safe.

But they guard me, these small pains,

from growing sure

of myself and perhaps forgetting.

~ Jane Hirshfield

(Of Gravity & Angel)