there are moments in moist love when heaven is jealous of what we on earth can do. —Hafiz

 

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A valley and above it forests in autumn colors.
A voyager arrives, a map led him here. 

Or perhaps memory. Once, long ago, in the sun,
When the first snow fell, riding this way
He felt joy, strong, without reason,
Joy of the eyes. Everything was the rhythm
Of shifting trees, of a bird in flight,
Of a train on the viaduct, a feast of motion. 

He returns years later, has no demands.
He wants only one, most precious thing:
To see, purely and simply, without name,
Without expectations, fears, or hopes,
At the edge where there is no I or not-I.

—Czesław Miłosz

This Only
Robert Hass version

 

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This world is just a little place, 

just the red in the sky, before the sun rises, 

so let us keep fast hold of hands, 

that when the birds begin, 

none of us be missing.

—Emily Dickinson

 

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