Reflections of a Man's Heart

Days that could have

been anything,

nights that could have been anything,

turned with the leaves.

 

Then, someone played

the piano -

halting,

unpracticed, and perfect.

 

I listened to pity

and lowered my head in shame.

Ashamed not at my tears,

or even at what has been wasted,

but to have been dry-eyed so long.

 

- Jane Hirshfield, The lives of the heart