Shinto
by
Jorge Luis Borges
When sorrow lays us low
for a second we are saved
by humble windfalls
of the mindfulness or memory:
the taste of a fruit, the taste of water,
that face given back to us by a dream,
the first jasmine of November,
the endless yearning of the compass,
a book we thought was lost,
the throb of a hexameter,
the slight key that opens a house to us,
the smell of a library, or of sandalwood,
the former name of a street,
the colors of a map,
an unforeseen etymology,
the smoothness of a filed fingernail,
the date we were looking for,
the twelve dark bell-strokes, tolling as we count,
a sudden physical pain.
Eight million Shinto deities
travel secretly throughout the earth.
Those modest gods touch us–
touch us and move on.
I had a customer today who I actually had a conversation with about JL Borges. I am a huge fan of his books, but the conversation inspired me to look up his other works, I knew he never wrote a novel, but I did not know he wrote so many essays and he inspired so many writers and musicians. So, I delved deeper until I found his poetry, as I am a sucker for poetry. Reading this out a loud, it flows so beautifully and is almost liquid and lyrical, it amazes me it was written in Spanish originally.