Once: An Assay

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Once wakes up in the morning, brews coffee, 

goes outside in its bathrobe to bring the paper from the street.

Once notices the day is possible rain.

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At the same time, Once is lightly climbing a tree, a tall sycamore

slanting over a late-summer stream.

A single yellow leaf at once floats down.

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A water snake flows one way, the leaf the other.

Once goes with both. 

Then coils in a spring-latched doorknob,

while also swinging its large head around

to scratch the itch that troubles one coarse-haired hip.

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Once knows again exists

but this is theoretical knowledge.

Thus Once is ceaselessly tender, though without large passion.

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Once doesn't know any better and so loves this world,

in which babies starve, after long enough,

in silence.

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Is Once heartless?

- You may well ask,

who pass your life inside its large, dry hand.

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Once turns its face toward the question:

a horse-shaped clock of bright blue plastic, with red tail.

The dream its whinny wakes you from is also Once's.

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This sneeze, this pain, this rage or weeping: one moment only.

Leaving, Once takes in its pocket your slightest sigh.

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Just try to breathe it again, Once murmurs, You'll see.

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If you protest, it is Once's own and only protest.

If you agree, it is Once that for its instant accedes.

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This Mobius is hard to understand but easy to manufacture.

A single strip of paper, turned once, and it's yours.

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~ Jane Hirshfield

from After

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