Lost by David Wagoner
When you were wandering around in Singapore, vulnerable to the kindness of strangers, I thought, here it is, the world; it’s speaking. Listen. And you did. And wasn’t it beautiful, in the end?
Stand still. The trees ahead and the bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat it as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
What a perfect turn of phrase: “vulnerable to the kindness of strangers”. I love everything it expresses. With every entry I read, I am so thankful that you keep writing here.
my favourite poem it speaks to me
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