Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Je ne sais quois

I want to write you into a poem   Write a poem right into you  I want to take your kindness  Your winter-warm words
Your grace  Return  Turn
to words                
     words to turn  I have tried  so many times  
so many unfinished pieces 
angles  points  directions  unsaid words
Words not quite right 

I   the girl with words at a loss   your tenderness has stolen them   or they exist as thoughts  risen  but unuttered
dissolving on my tongue but absorbed 

It is this: 
I am in the depths
of our hallowed one flesh but separate  still  somehow
and trying
to flesh out ever deepening view 
magniloquence to mystery
and even with poem brush inspired  this is impossible 
My view of flesh  somehow 

How do I hold you as I do each night
                                  as if new 
as if experiencing
                                a reality
of evolution
The evolution
                                of reality

                                Our limbs
convolve like that solemn fixed banyan tree I stood staring
long at
          at the mission  stirred   photographed (learned only later that it grows in the style of an epiphytic strangler vine
This the reason the fatted branches
                                seem to melt)
                                Still now-  captured

are fluid   moving and I cannot capture us
                                            maybe then
it is our movements
                                   magnified and rapid that blur
But my mind’s eye
                       sees with salience
                         Evidence discerns  

Maybe  the best I can do is create just
                     a collage
of these keepsake images

I touch he stretch of your back
                  and both wonder at who you are
                 and know

It is too much
                  this love
this long spread of lovely hours
and never enough 

can I write this:
that just as I know my need, so, too, do you   What?  This private
of the clouds
                       covering the sun I wrote by one Sunday and the sudden chill and then suddenly you are walking toward me holding out your sweatshirt
The night sleep failed and I was angry so aching and you sacrificed your own sleep to work your hands
deep into my muscles
and I could not explain the tears
That just you standing in the kitchen is a mystery  And a poem I cannot write All the unbeforerealized
That there is favor in all of this   blessing  beyond
That there is enlightenment inside of ever deepening
and enlightenment

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