Day 14 of National Poetry Month. I'm certain I've never shared this much poetry before. It feels good, but also somehow sad - like letting go of a wild creature you've raised and loved, but eventually must set free.
By Edith Hope Bishop, August 2017
The forest’s leaves don’t ache
to be remembered and loved.
They know their place -
breathing always
the infinite and

I would press one
in a book
but finding her
some distant day,
I’d forget her name,
and feel instead the sun
the afternoon we met.

Oh, help me be small.
Oh, let me be nothing to you.
A quiet flash of green
on your long walk.


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