Hear Jane Hirshfield read this poem (in RealAudio):
see a note about the audio.)
Also by Jane Hirshfield:
The Song (1986)
Within This Tree (1991)
The Love of Aged Horses (1994)
The Poet (1997)
An Audible Anthology
her nose to the ground,
a rusty shadow
neither hunting nor playing.
One stood; sat; lay down; stood again.
One never moved,
except to turn her head a little as we walked.
Finally we drew too close,
and they vanished.
The woods took them back as if they had never been.
I wish I had thought to put my face to the grass.
We kept on walking,
speaking as strangers do when becoming friends.
There is more and more I tell no one,
strangers nor loves.
This slips into the heart
without hurry, as if it had never been.
And yet, among the trees, something has changed.
Something looks back from the trees,
and knows me for who I am.
Copyright © 1996 by The Atlantic Monthly Company.
The Atlantic Monthly; June 1996; Three Foxes by the Edge of the Field at
Twilight; Volume 277, No. 6;