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Now's the time for the poems I planned to post last week. And it's another long one.

When Your Life Looks Back

When your life looks back—
As it will, at itself, at you—what will it say?

Inch of colored ribbon cut from the spool.
Flame curl, blue consuming the log it flares from.
Bay leaf. Oak leaf. Cricket. One among many.

Your life will carry you as it did always,
With ten fingers and both palms,
With horizontal ribs and upright spine,
With its filling and emptying heart,
That wanted only your own heart, emptying, filled, in return.
You gave it. What else could do?

Immersed in air or water.
Immersed in hunger or anger.
Curious even when bored.
Longing even when running away.

“What will happen next?”—
the question hinged in your knees, your ankles,
in the in-breaths even of weeping.
Strongest of magnets, the future impartial drew you in.
Whatever direction your turned as face to face.
No back of the world existed,
No unseen corner, no test. No other earth to prepare for.

This, your life said, its only problem.
Here, your life said, its only house.
Let, your life said, its only order.

And did you have a choice in this? You did—

Sleeping and waking.
The horses around you, the mountains around you,
The buildings with their tall, hydraulic shafts.
Those of your own kind around you—

A few times, you stood on your head.
A few times, you chose not to be frightened.
A few times, you held another beyond any measure.
A few times, you found yourself held beyond any measure.

Mortal, your life will say,
As if tasting something delicious, as if in envy.
Your immortal life will say this, as it is leaving.

-Jane Hirshfield

Sabbath Poem VII

There is a day
when the road neither
comes nor goes, and the way
is not a way but a place.

-Wendell Berry, 1997