Stay, I said
to the cut flowers.
They bowed
their heads lower.
Stay, I said to the
spider,
who fled.
Stay, leaf.
It reddened,
embarrassed for me
and itself.
Stay, I said to my
body.
It sat as a dog does,
obedient for a
moment,
soon starting to
tremble.
Stay, to the earth
of riverine valley
meadows,
of fossiled
escarpments,
of limestone and
sandstone.
It looked back
with a changing
expression, in silence.
Stay, I said to my
loves.
Each answered,
Always.
Jane Hirshfield
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