Hope and Love by Jane Hirshfield

Hope and Love

 

All winter

the blue heron

slept among the horses.

I do not know

the custom of herons,

do not know

if the solitary habit

is their way,

or if he listened for

some missing one-

not knowing even

that was what he did-

in the blowing

sounds in he dark.

I know that

hope is the hardest

love we carry.

He slept

with his long neck

folded, like a letter

put away.