Life is the only way
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on the beach,
rise on wings;
to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur;
to tell pain
from everything it’s not;
to squeeze inside events,
hang out in views,
and seek the least of all possible mistakes.
A fantastic chance
to remember, for a moment,
a conversation
with the light switched off;
and, if only once,
to stumble upon a stone,
end up soaked in one downpour or another,
mislay your keys in the grass;
follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;
keep on not knowing
something important.
Wislawa Szymborska, A note