February dawn – frost on the path Where I paced all winter

This circumvolving world, forever undulating in darkness and light, 

becomes an elixir of sorts, coaxing narratives out of life’s terse solicitudes,

where the poet listens appraisingly to its impeccable pulse of poetry before writing 

page after page of ambiguous speech that labours to convey things oftentimes hidden, 

things weighted with vocabularies that advance toward an hypothesis of reason

thickened with silence in pursuance of some sort of humble translation.

. . . . .

Antisthenes says that in a certain faraway land the cold is so intense that words freeze as soon as they are uttered, and after some time then thaw and become audible, so that words spoken in winter go unheard until the next summer.  

~ Plutarch

. . . . .

February dawn – frost on the path Where I paced all winter ~ Jack Kerouac