Jane Hirschfield: The Present

redpres

The Present

I wanted to give you something —
no stone, clay, bracelet,
no edible leaf could pass through.
Even a molecule’s fragrance by then too large.
Giving had been taken, as you soon would be.
Still, I offered the puffs of air shaped to meaning.
They remained air.
I offered memory on memory,
but what is memory that dies with the fallible inks?
I offered apology, sorrow, longing. I offered anger.
How fine is the mesh of death. You can almost see through it.
I stood on one side of the present, you stood on the other.

~Jane Hirshfield

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2 Responses to Jane Hirschfield: The Present

  1. Jarod says:

    Love thinking of words as shaped “puffs of air.” Nice. 🙂

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