Even the long-beloved
was once
an unrecognized stranger.
Just so,
the chipped lip
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjscscOgwFXTmoevpS-RWWCeoZ9K0m40qbNQCFZE8e8uz2rx3xz2T92oOlISz3pcXF54ieA5O5SbrZ_crmBtS6n4mifscx4DBiNoGv0HEr_4Q7Q4is0JmMScTxSIAI70eCAzcsA8uM2EOU/s200/empty-clothesline-by-auntie-p.jpg)
blown field
of a yellow curtain,
might also,
flooding and falling,
ruin your heart.
A table painted with roses.
An empty clothesline.
Each time,
the found world surprises—
that is its nature.
And then
what is said by all lovers:
"What fools we were, not to have seen."
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8g4Ru-fyhf3iEPoIVm5THN3ClLIE3KqZsNRZbZCwgoh6_Mbq6XpcYkxXku3PeFCCh16ttZ54AkF_x5DQvANnbP6kAbBgYb9540yOPs7mNrWE4-5ztZMcvJnsN8-dLwWQILZPJFMpDIO0/s200/2006-04JaneHirshfield.jpg)
Photograph: Untitled, by Auntie P (originally color).
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