Jane Hirshfield

It is the work of feeling
to undo expectation.

A black-faced sheep
looks back at you as you pass
and your heart is startled
as if by the shadow
of someone once loved.

Neither comforted by this
nor made lonely.

Only remembering
that the self in exile remains the self,
as a bell unstruck for years is still a bell. 

                    [first appeared in Poetry London, UK]