a note

Life is the only way
to get covered in leaves,
catch your breath on the sand,
rise on wings;

to be a dog,
or stroke its warm fur;

to tell pain
from everything it's not;

to squeeze inside events,
dawdle in views,
to seek the least of all possible mistakes.

An extraordinary chance
to remember for a moment
a conversation held
with the lamp 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;

and to follow a spark on the wind with your eyes;
and to keep on not knowing something important. --

by Wislawa Szymborska (Translated from the Polish, by Stanislaw Baranczak and Clare Cavanagh.)