The time is early spring, dusk, Jane Hirschfield captures not just a moment or memory, a deeper meaning in what is momentary.
Bobcats, Beetles, Owls
We stood in the dark outside a door
and talked in the scent of jasmine.
Thee women standing at the foot of -- what?
One mountain of three lifetimes' lucks and losses,
the other actual and breathing above us in the dark.
The year's new leaves and grasses were resting all around us,
somewhere above us deer were sleeping.
Bobcats, beetles and owls were sleeping.
We spoke of neither mountain.
We breathed in the scene of jasmine between words
whose meaning didn't matter.
Only the murmur mattered going on.
It was night. Deer slept, and bobcats.
Our lives paused with us in the doorway, waiting.
About some poems I can say nothing except that I know what the poet is saying but cannot say it in different word.
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