I found myself
a many-roofed building in moonlight.
me as simply as moths might.
Feelings traversed me as fish.
I heard myself thinking,
It isn't the piano, it isn't the ears.
Then heard, too soon, the ordinary furnace,
the usual footsteps above me.
Washed my face again with hot water,
as I did when I was a child.
|Copyright © 2012 by Jane Hirshfield. Used with permission of the author.|