Almost all of the poems I write are completed in one sitting. But this does not imply hurry. It simply means that the poem is ready to be written, and that I understand the need to stay out of its way. That’s why I often say, I do not write the poem, the poem writes me.
“And One” came about in this fashion very early in the morning on the last day of 2017. Reading it now, I see it as solitude and personal philosophy set to music, its rhythm and melody akin to child’s play. What better way to end a year than to set aside the burdensome idea of oneself, and sing?
Sometimes you can feel the very notion of yourself
flowing out through your fingertips, and the wind in your hair
is not wind, but caress, and your hair is not hair,
but a place for stars to meet.
And one — one life, one love, one peace, one dove,
one word, one almighty gentle thought
that has not yet come to anyone.
And the thought is not a thought,
but the very notion of yourself flowing out
through your fingertips.
And your fingers are not fingers.
Then a child comes and takes delight in you,
and in the birds singing from your branches.
And you are this child, and distance crumbles,
and meaning drinks at the stream.
And the stream is a galaxy. Imagine the roots it dreams!
Now, give me your coat, love, and come in,
let me kiss the snow from your brow.
Let me, if I am, or have been.
Let me end and begin.
Let me when and then.
Come in! Come in! Come in, love! Come in!
Recently Banned Literature, December 31, 2017
Categories: Recently Banned Literature