Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Readings: a Poem by Jane Hirshfield...

...from her collection The Lives of the Heart:

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.


Lynne H. said...

I like the poem but got alittle confused. When she says "they rattle" doe she mean tenderness, or the items? Sorry..lol

Rodak said...

The items rattle. There is tenderness, nonetheless.