Apple

Apple
- Jane Hirshfield

I woke and rememberednothing of what was dreaming.

The day grew light, then dark again.

In all its rich hours, what happened?

A few weeds pulled, a few cold flowerscarried inside for the vase.

A little reading.

A little tidying and sweeping.

I had vowed to do nothing I did not wishto do that day, and kept my promise.

Once, a certain hope came closeand then departed.

Passed by me in its familiarshawl, scented with iodine woodsmoke.

I did not speak to it, nor it to me.

Yet still the habit of warmth traveledbetween us, like an apple shared by old friends.

One takes a bite, then the other.

They do this until it is gone.