Monday, April 23, 2012

a note

Life is the only way 
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on the sand,
rise on wings;

to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur; 

to tell pain
from everything it's not; 

to squeeze inside events,
dawdle in views,
to seek the least of all possible mistakes.

An extraordinary chance
to remember for a moment
a conversation held 
with the lamp switched off; 

and if only once 
to stumble upon a stone,
end up soaked in one downpour or another, 

mislay your keys in the grass; 
and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;
and to keep on not knowing
something important.  

Wislawa Szymborska
image:  Peter Bowers