From "The Meadow," by Marie Howe

...My love, this might be
all we know of forgiveness, this small time when you can forget 

what you are. There will come a day when the meadow will think 
suddenly, water, root, blossom, through no fault of its own, 
and the horses will lie down in daisies and clover. Bedeviled, 
human, your plight, in waking, is to choose from the words 

that even now sleep on your tongue, and to know that tangled 
among them and terribly new is the sentence that could change your life.


Hear it here. 


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