Jane Hirshfield Poems
|5.||A Blessing for Wedding||2/3/2015|
|6.||The Heart's Counting Knows Only One||5/23/2013|
You work with what you are given,
the red clay of grief,
the black clay of stubbornness going on after.
Clay that tastes of care or carelessness,
clay that smells of the bottoms of rivers or dust.
Each thought is a life you have lived or failed to live,
each word is a dish you have eaten or left on the table.
There are honeys so bitter