Monday, March 11, 2019


Only these
few things

the heart holds
make a world:

the old pine
which keeps its

place; the red-
tail hawk at

home wherever
it is; the sand-

hill cranes gone
grey now, late

in the season;
the stone and

dirt of earth;
the grasses.

Why only
these? Why not

also ask
the poet

who knows love
and loss and

between darkness

and trembling.

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