What’s Left?

Kurt Brobeck of The Coffee Sutras writes inspired entries he dubs “morning verses.” This one struck me as especially eloquent.

Yesterday I felt discouraged.
It hangs over me this morning, as well.
I tell myself chop wood, carry water.
But the woods grow thicker.
The water is over my head.
I have only these old bones
to hack and paddle, picked
clean by time and overuse.
They’re dull. And silence, the clear
spring, well, maybe in the next life.
Here in this one, the birds
tear silence like an old blanket,
hoard it in their nests,
out of reach, woven in twigs
and dead grass. What’s left?
I put my hope in the furious
scouring of storms.
Explore posts in the same categories: Humanities, Nature, Quotes

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