(Poetry) "The threshold between humans and nature grows ever stronger and I am only human/I'm not capable of such tender beauty as that made by birds"
“Bird Notes” (1902) Public Domain
The blank page is endless
in front of me,
its waters undisturbed
This kind of perfection
can't be helped by
writing, it can only be
ruined, and
I am the ruiner
The splash of the ink
on the page makes
ripples and streaks like a
bird flying low near the
surface of the
lake, dipping her pointed
claw in just a little,
dropping feathers
I could say I am that
bird, but it would
be boastful; the threshold
between humans and nature
grows ever stronger, and
I am only human
I'm not capable of such
tender beauty
as that made by birds
This humbles me, as does
the realization that
this pen is not a claw
this page is not a pond and
so, I am free to ruin it
