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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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

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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/

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