OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
So much that’s hidden away
in every room: drawers full,
boxes crammed, each years’
store of all the things
at which the heart at one time
pointed, saying Please,
I need, I want—
And I want to lighten
what weights the skiff,
what slows the quaver in
the sparrow’s song, hurling
itself above the corded wave.
In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.