I go in and out of my need for poetry. It is probably always there, but there are days when it is more clearly honored, heard.. Today is one of those days.
Has my heart gone to sleep?
Have the beehives of my dreams
stopped working, the waterwheel
of the mind run dry,
scoops turning empty,
only shadow inside?
No, my heart is not asleep.
It is awake, wide awake.
Not asleep, not dreaming
its eyes opened wide
watching distant signals, listening
on the rim of the vast silence.
(Translated by Alan S. Trueblood)