So much that’s hidden away
in every room: drawers full,
boxes crammed, each years’
store of all the things
at which the heart at one time
pointed, saying Please,
I need, I want—
And I want to lighten
what weights the skiff,
what slows the quaver in
the sparrow’s song, hurling
itself above the corded wave.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES