Do you ever have old lines of poems you’ve written,

float ’round your mind?

Words of love and loss, fear and anguish,

Traipsing ‘long, like sour-sweet candy,

As you think of all the lines you’ve written,

and the feelings that have birthed them,

And smile with nostalgia at the sweetness of warm

pictures,

Or stumbled for a moment, as a thing so beautiful

your words will never hold them–

Never paint them with letter, the way your heart, and mind,

and eyes,

Have painted them on ink-less void–

Takes hold of your spirit, and makes you wish for it again?

 

 

Have you ever touched a thing,

Laid your cheek to the surface of sunshine,

Sank into the overwhelming cold of nothing,

And put your pen to white sheet, torn sheet, yellow sheet,

grey sheet,

Skin, heart, soul,

With the rushing blood of ink begging to be let free,

Whispering to share it, capture ‘it’, and give it away

So that ‘it’ can be tasted, and felt:

Owned temporarily–a sensation so nameless, that it lifts you, and weights

you all at once?

 

 

K.N.O.W. Friday, Sabbath evening, August 26th, 2016. 20:45 hrs.