Poem

Against Desirelessness

The heart needs more than quiet,

more than a home without desire.

Sorry old masters, before I can let go,

won’t I need to be holding on,

refusing to let something loose?

In my fist, I hold the aroma

of spring, of roses, of mown grass.

In my ear, I can still hear the creek

and the wren’s song turned to scold,

as the snake comes down the tree

from her emptied nest. The touch

of the breeze as I open my palm.

— Paul Jones, author of Something Wonderful

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