(c) Jan Zwicky

             There is a sound
that is a whole of many parts,
a sorrowless transparency, like luck,
that opens in the centre of a thing.
An eye, a river, fishheads, death,
gold in your pocket, and a half-wit
son: the substance of the world
is light and blindness and the
measure of our wisdom is our love.
Our diligence: ten fingers and
a healthy set of lungs. practice
ceaselessly: there is
one art: wind
in the open spaces
grieving, laughing
with us, saying

(From, Practising Bach. Published in Vallum 6:1, 2008.)