how fragile we are, between the few good moments

Wrong solitude vinegars the soul, 

 right solitude oils it. 

 

How fragile we are, between the few good moments. 

 

Coming and going unfinished, 

 puzzled by fate, 

 

like the half-carved relief 

 of a fallen donkey, above a church door in Finland. 

 

[Jane Hirshfield {1953- } 'Vinegar and Oil' from Come, Thief]