There are worlds
of what hasn’t happened
no one can explain it
the watched
rhythm of wings at the door of the hive
the hunger
I would like
to live like a painting
by each breath changed
like a cello
grows tender and sweet
almost weightless
In a room with many windows
the invitation to change direction
remains
a half half darkness
growing rounder
as on a child’s map
And if in that room sorrow bends
you can hold more
the body it seems is a highway
there is some generosity to it
like water
you are the stories of others
~ Cento composed from lines in the poems of Jane Hirshfield’s collection The Beauty
Amazing!
There are worlds
of what hasn’t happened
no one can explain it
Love it!
Thanks you all. It’s so great to get poets responding to your work.
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