Discontinuities
Aug 14th, 2003 by Ree Joy
Between minutes distinct as day
and night, each shadow every
stranger I have touched; known,
but for the quality of their giving.
Memory at rest.
But a memory whose recall was
an arm blind to the limit of its
reaching, an eye which did not,
could not, accept a horizon.
And so.
Like every story in the telling,
every stranger’s face was
the green shape of a leaf
breathing out of stone, the
laughter of every spring gurgling
from inanimate rock.
Those faces are comfortable,
here, between a slap of light
and the cold of dark.
At home, these are, with me.
As you are now, somehow, not.
And. Everything is right –
the lingering guilt, the
properly-nursed hurt, the
regret an etude mourning
across a hundred octaves,
the missed loves pulling their
weight over my furrowed spirit –
yes, everything is perfect,
except for that.
~~~
I have found I could
never leave
if I did not know enough
to return
I have found I will never
have a home
unless I bring it with me
I have found nothing
I did not find
with you
~~~
If there was a smile
in the room
for me
it was not something
I could see
not even on the ceiling
something I would have
webbed for
Some hurts offer you
the comfort of a bed
Your smile would
just be the
same.
Still I’d embrace it
like a pillow to my cold
until the warmth
of another
darkness
Nicely written. =)
Here’s a tanka for you:
your words—
or is it that song I love,
softly playing
all senses tuned
touching me?
Goodness Ree… how is it that these words have been concocted yet were not meant for me?… :)
They’re beautiful… and yet, not as if beauty is all that it takes to be in love… profoundly in love.