As if we couldn’t be both the ocean and the waves
That come and go in tendril-like fingers;
As if we did not embody it in molecular composites -
In ebbing deposits.
How I smile when I catch myself observing it
Like a chess board;
Yet what is that but my own projection?
My own dream?
There is a fine line we dance
Between the desire for numbness
And the willingness to let it wash over us
Like a flood
To use it to mold a new way of looking -
A better way to perceive, to feel, to live.
Oh, prolonged departure, dear words.
How I delight in the ink that seeps
Into your skin– for it pools in more
Than what words can say.
Why is it that I have judged you so?
Such refusal to write you– sit with you.
Yet did you not live in something else?
As sound, as laughter,
In pain and in joy?
In pleasure? In seeking?
In ambivalence? In complacency?
And when did I lock myself within a question -
Within an answer?
And what if what it is could not
Be placed within a limit?
No signpost could point to it
And I know not where it dwells.
Where is the fulcrum that turns
A loving soul unloving?
And what of the light that illuminates
A darkened mind to dissipate
The walls it built to it?
And what when it all comes to
A reflection in a mirror
That you do not familiarize with?
What is in the cup from which
Our thirsting lips have drank?
What fuels the reactionary, lashing out,
Hashing out of transgressions -
The need to hate and separate
Our will from a brother?
And what is in a will?
Form will always change.
Notice the content.
Same old condition– brave new world.
I watch the way emotion changes.
I close my eyes and feel it in a shape.
I give it a name and step within
Maybe I could write it all into a schematic.
Maybe I could lay it upon the light
And map the constellation within,
If just to see where I stand
And speak it like a bridge to join us.
So I turn into the gale
And set those thoughts to sail.