The Point
What am I here to speak of?
The night I heard coyotes echoing in the distant hills?
The vague unexamined feelings that sometimes well up
until they can no longer be ignored?
The time I saw the maggot-ridden corpse of a dog on a
mossy sun-dappled road in the forest?
The time you passed me the knife with a veiled look?
I no longer know.
I do know that stuttering words and stammering phrases
are not equal to the task of saying what passes through
me and onward into everything.
Or it is I who am not equal, who cannot wrestle down
the slinking wind or sudden sunlight—
who cannot capture and show to you the unnamed
longing, the thrust I make into the heart of loneliness
with the knife you gave me long ago.
5
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2 comments
Feel free to reply to any comment by clicking the "Reply" button.Reminds me of of something I wrote some years ago.. something about "chasms of meaning" and "cracks intervening, we stuff ourselves into"... Dang gotta go find it now...
I have to sit with this one a while longer to make sure the noise of my recollection is not overriding the signal of your poem...because I feel they are very similar...
stinkeye_a
Level 8
May 6, 2018
1
If you find it, post it, and let me know.
Those eerie thoughts get me all tingling just in wait and anticipation. Good rune
azzow2
Level 9
May 5, 2018
2
Thanks.
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