Sunday, May 1, 2011

A Jane Hirshfield poem

from The Lives of the Heart, 1997, Harper Perennial

Late Prayer

Tenderness does not choose its own uses.
It goes out to everything equally,
circling rabbit and hawk.
Look: in the iron bucket,
a single nail, a single ruby --
all the heavens and hells.
They rattle in the heart and make one sound.

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