Sunday, April 10, 2011

sentencings






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A thing too perfect to be remembered:
stone beautiful only when wet.


Blinded by light or black cloth—
so many ways
not to see others suffer.

*

Too much longing:

it separates us
like scent from bread,
rust from iron.

*

From very far or very close—
the most resolute folds of the mountain are gentle.

*

As if putting arms into woolen coat sleeves,
we listen to the murmuring dead.

*

Any point of a circle is its start:
desire forgoing fulfillment to go on desiring.

*

In a room in which nothing
has happened,
sweet-scented tobacco.

*

The very old, hands curling into themselves, remember their parents.

*

Think assailable thoughts, or be lonely.




~ Jane Hirshfield
from Poetry (December 2010)


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