remembering

i took this photo this morning
as the sun was just cresting above the trees
in the eastern sky

today i woke up with this feeling of longing
deep longing, for what i can't remember
longing tinged in sadness
it's all wrapped up in a delicate little bundle
like rice paper that melts in your mouth
and is gone without a trace
hints of sweetness left behind
this tremendous longing i don't understand
but feel deeply right now
for something other than
some thing or some one
a mystery, the unknown, the place i came from,
home.
everywhere i look, everything i look at
it's all made of longing when i look deeply
the walls, my cup, the paper in my book


lines in this poem keep appearing in my mind this morning
another one by Naomi Shihab Nye

Famous

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to silence,
which knew it would inherit the earth
before anybody said so.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds
watching him from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.

The idea you carry close to your bosom
is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth,
more famous than the dress shoe,
which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it
and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.

I want to be famous to shuffling men
who smile while crossing streets,
sticky children in grocery lines,
famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous,
or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular,
but because it never forgot what it could do.

*************************************************

have i forgotten what i can do?
is that what i long to remember?