Desire Desire Desire

Just happened across a Stanley Kunitz poem in my email inbox before heading off for bed late on a Saturday night with nothing to offer to the world outside these walls. An excerpt:

“… Outdoors all afternoon

under a gunmetal sky

staking my garden down,

I kneeled to the crickets trilling

underfoot as if about

to burst from their crusty shells;

and like a child again

marveled to hear so clear

and brave a music pour

from such a small machine.

What makes the engine go?

Desire, desire, desire.

The longing for the dance

stirs in the buried life.

One season only,

and it’s done. …”

A poem’s magic: to take me outside these walls, to put me in a Massachusetts garden hearing the crickets.

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