From: "Toward the Same Shore", Yves Bonnefoy
Between sky and room
Sometimes our mirror
Takes the small earthly
Sun in its hands,
As though
The paths, the hopes
Of things and names
Joined on the same shore.
We start to dream
That downstream from this river
Of peace, words will not ask
Too much of the world,
That words will not cut
The throat of the lamb
That trustfully
Follows our speech.
