The garden’s grillwork gate

            opens with the ease of a page

            in a much thumbed book,

            and, once inside, our eyes

            have no need to dwell on objects

            already fixed and exact in memory.

            Here habits and minds and the private language

            all families invent

            are everyday things to me.

            What necessity is there to speak

            or pretend to be someone else?

            The whole house knows me,

            they’re aware of my worries and weaknesses.

            This is the best that can happen –

            what Heaven will perhaps grant us;

            not to be wondered at or required to succeed

            but simply to be let in

            as a part of an undeniable Reality,

            like stones of the road, like trees.

Jorge Luis Borges


1 Comment

Filed under Poetry

One response to “Plainness

  1. Love this- I think I will make gates my collection to photograph this year!

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