When sorrow lays us low
for a second we are saved
by humble windfalls
of the mindfulness or memory:
the taste of a fruit, the taste of water,
that face given back to us by a dream,
the first jasmine of November,
the endless yearning of the compass,
a book we thought was lost,
the throb of a hexameter,
the slight key that opens a house to us,
the smell of a library, or of sandalwood,
the former name of a street,
the colors of a map,
an unforeseen etymology,
the smoothness of a filed fingernail,
the date we were looking for,
the twelve dark bell-strokes, tolling as we count,
a sudden physical pain.
Eight million Shinto deities
travel secretly throughout the earth.
Those modest gods touch us–
touch us and move on.
(Jorge Luis Borges)
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Based on Topics: Mind Poems, Sense & Perception Poems, Dreams Poems, Thought & Thinking Poems, Pain Poems, Water Poems, Books Poems, Memory Poems, Librarian Poems, Library PoemsBased on Keywords: million, slight, endless, smell, date, saved, sorrow, november, modest, fruit, eight