Sunday, January 16, 2022

Wading in the Shallows

 

I thought to come to a blank page

Because swirls and clouds are 
Crowding in my head and heart.
I had a notion to excavate 
The granularity.

Well, here I am,
I’ve no idea what all that agitation
Was about, except a flash of insight: 

Beauty’s no mood or recognition,
No, true as breath 
In every second
In every glance or affect 
Pinwheels snowing, 
Scent of patchouli, mesquite, 
Memory drifting off 
Into a saving for another time, 
The softness of this isolation—
This is beauty, everywhere
Still

…I see the trouble coming
The train is on an old track
Arriving when it’s neither 
Night nor day, the trestle trembling
And no whistle blowing to 
Haunt the strangeness
Of the interstitials, and 
Even if I wanted to,
There’s not one thing that I could do
But let it arrive.

Perhaps this solitary 
Is something to be reckoned with,
The tide comes in, the tide goes out, 
Examined closely for some implicit lack
Or message 
I think,
Depending on the view,
I have a choice: I can 
Wrap myself in the beauty of 
This emptiness or move,
As well, into 
The sweeping shallows



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