Every night before I sleep, I read a poem from the best thing I brought to Dakar: Good Poems by Garrison Keillor. I flip through at random and read. Sometimes they speak loudly, sometimes more softly, sometimes it’s hard to hear at all. But I like the process, because when it all aligns and the poem speaks clearly and beautifully and I am in a place to hear it, it is wonderful, such as this:
Lost by David Wagoner
Stand still. The trees ahead and bushes beside you
Are not lost. Wherever you are is called Here,
And you must treat is as a powerful stranger,
Must ask permission to know it and be known.
The forest breathes. Listen. It answers,
I have made this place around you.
If you leave it, you may come back again, saying Here.
No two trees are the same to Raven.
No two branches are the same to Wren.
If what a tree or a bush does is lost on you,
You are surely lost. Stand still. The forest knows
Where you are. You must let it find you.
callie daniels-howell 