I open the windows

What I wanted

wasn’t to let in the wetness.

That can be mopped.

 

Nor the cold.

There are blankets.

 

What I wanted was

the siren, the thunder, the neighbor,

the fireworks, the dog bark.

 

Which of them didn’t matter?

 

Yes, this world is perfect,

all things as they are.

 

But I wanted

not to be

the one sleeping soundly, on a soft pillow,

clean sheets untroubled,

dreaming there still might be time,

 

while this everywhere crying.

--Jane Hirshfield