Things Left Behind By The Illumination (Writing In The Margins Again)
Now, with winter nearly gone,
we rediscover the worlds
alive beneath stone and rock,
seemingly oblivious to us -
but maybe not
-
And where do we go
from here, she asks, as if
I am somebody in the know
but I am not, nor ever was —
still, I trace my finger along the folds,
down streets, and into fields,
and through woods,
hoping for a safe place to land
-
Night's notes – play them soft –
in tension with the upward design
of day's sweet melody, and write
what you hear, even if it's silence
tucked inside your solitary head
-
Where gravity pulls you,
resist the urge to fall into it –
Instead, find the focus knob
to turn the thoughts into something
useable – a poem, a song, a story, a shout
of love into the crowded unseen world;
Then, listen close to the reverberations
-
And white light, blown into view
by the particles,
shaken inside the invisible;
I wait for it,
the movement meant for me,
a signal to begin dipping my pen
into the ink of shadows
left behind after the illumination
-
Some of us are bound
to wonder, in wonder,
with wonder, constrained
in infinite space,
but still left pulling up
the corners to witness
what's beneath
-
Moonlight, three a.m -
the thread that I lost earlier
suddenly is there, here,
it's become a whisper
that won't go quiet,
and try as I might,
I rise before the sun
for another poem has begun
Riffs of Terry's Triptych – https://impedagogy.com/wp/blog/2023/03/26/a-triptych-of-observations-taken-from-my-daybooks/
Video Curation: https://play.soundslides.com/W0qSFC9K