.
Days that could have
been anything,
night that could have been anything,
turned with the leaves.
.
Then, someone played
the piano -
halting,
unpracticed, and perfect.
.
I listened to pity
and lowered my head in shame.
Ashamed not at my tears,
or even at what has been wasted,
but to have been dry-eyed so long.
.
~ Jane Hirshfield
from The lives of the Heart
.
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