21 November 2010

The Empty Space

Oh the futility of reaching out
to take another's hand.
How vast the open sky!

The yawning gap between us isn't space,
or time,
or distance.
It's something else entirely.
Something huge,
and invisible,

(Though sometimes a strain of music
or a remembered word
trickles through.
Or is that just an echo
bouncing off the bleakness?)

What is out beyond the edge?
The action is completed.
Those beyond need rest,
not perpetual prodding.
They've had their day, their say.

Bach's notes fit together like a complex puzzle.
Don't add pieces or take any away.
What is there is complete.

Write your own music,
speak your own unuttered words.
Then when you spring into the familiar,
forgotten ether,
You'll have something to talk about
in your own voice.
Grow into your words.
Even now there are those who strain to hear.

12 November 2010

Part of the Answer

What is success?
Grasping at icicles,
Harvesting the drips,
Eating gold.

Aren’t beans more substantial?

You look at each others' store of
chocolate, with envy.
Who could possibly eat so much?
There aren’t enough days in the
year to wear all those clothes even once.

Don’t you have anything to love?
Nothing to treasure?
Nothing to hold in your hands, or your arms,
Or even stroke with your fingertips?
Nothing so comfortable to wear that it molds
to your body from long use?


Come sit down here on this box.
I’ll give you some thoughts,
and my attention.
I’ll stay up late and write a letter,
one you can hold in your hands
and feel the paper crinkle
against your fingers.
It’s the attention that really matters.

To how many people in your life did you really pay attention?
Did you really never see that golden light
streaming onto the concrete
through the turning leaves?
How do you think you’ll recognize it now?
When the shell is gone, you’ll be hollow inside.

So sit outside in the sun or the rain.
Then at least you’ll be filled with
light and water.
And something planted in your soil
can grow.