This passed along from my friend, the poet Sarah Gridley. I hope you all are enjoying the summer paths. If not, take a walk, people, and check out them stars through the haze and clouds, and listen to the crickets all winding their old-style watches.
A PATH THROUGH GRASS
A path through grass
worn as an old hoehandle
and pale as silver.
The silent things
that build bridges so many places,
roads after dead people, a handle,
a path in the field
moves like an unreal thing through summer,
moon bridges built over the green sea.
Rolf Jacobsen, trans. Robert Bly
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