In And Out Of Light And Dark, The Poet Rises

Sympathetic to the landscape, your concentration stretches far and wide mapping its affecting geographies. Your words speak humbly of its people passing. Individuals – some heartsick and wistful, others a little scared, existing on the mere surface of things. Everything for them coming down to getting by on self-imposed perception's of emptiness. With hands clenched to the sill of a window, their eyes fix to the harsh weather transpiring outside, while inside, their souls cling to the conventional day-after-day-ness of the hours. Almost invisible, loneliness becomes their story, to tell it is your thing. 

I'll never forget the look of clemency I found in your eyes when you told me that a single minute is enough time, if it is your desire to want to change things. Proud and vulnerable with their talent for love and forgiveness, your eyes catch me still a little off-guard as I try following your mind to no end. Nameless, the stranger part of you always writing down the details in the pages of your spiral-bound book as if half-expecting to catch up with the scheme of things before it all slips away into the silence, like those faint whispers that arise then all too suddenly disappear, resonating from a thousand naked stones.

Moved by words, your mind longingly searches for something to clutch – a spark to light the dark, to guide you back into another day that you might fit again into its chanced flame. Initiating their harmony, you and your words become so much more than just an ambiguous ambition. With purpose your soul quietly discovers a place to talk. Your mind, in a meaningful way, elicits further, its process of thought. Without exception it is fated to become something to be listened to.

. . . . .

You there;

Come with me into

the world of light

and be whole,

For the love you thought had been

dead a thousand years

Is back in town

and asking for you.

~ Mark Strand

(from a suite entitled "Five Dogs," 

from the book Blizzard of One)