Destroyers advertise themselves. They break down one’s door to get in. Makers must be found. They reveal themselves to seekers.
Fortunate are they who go forth freely each morning, with no stone to drag, or that they must first roll away from their gloomy sepulcher.
Fortunate are they who have a stone, and who know they have a stone.
You have given it great thought. Do you now see that it is a stone, and that it will remain a stone? Do you see that thought itself is the stone? Do you see that you are the ring in the pond? And do you see that the water is calm?
Your way of expressing anger with a hammer
taught me how to write shorter and shorter poems,
until at last, one day, somehow, a single blow
left us both speechless and we turned,
unexpectedly, to stone; only then
did we hear the pleading
of this grieving
Songs and Letters, January 8, 2009
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Categories: Songs and Letters