Waking on

They’d begun to ask me if this blog is dead. I did not think so; I thought that perhaps it was just very very sleepy. I am giving it a slight prod to see if it stirs and breathes.

Often when you sleep with a thought you awake on the theme, and so I find I still have Hirshfield for you –

To hear the falling world

Only if I move my arm in 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 seemingly safe.

But they guard me, these small pains,

From growing sure

of myself and perhaps forgetting.