seeking occasionally, with weak desperation
for the light it once (perhaps?) remembers;
stabbing their own nearest, dearest kin
with the cold steel of unrecognition
as if of some betrayal: one day, a glance,
a careful question: ‘Are we… related? ’
And you – you have been singled out
for this unexplained great test
which gods within, without, us have devised:
call upon all you’ve ever learned, lived, won, been gifted:
love these beloved strangers
beyond all bonds, all bounds.
lasted that little bit longerlike an unexpected, perfect Christmas presentthat got delayed in the mailand I’m filled with a sheer gratitudethat somehow passed me byin long, hot, lazy, selfish, glorioussummer
and says exactly as he feels,feeling as if he isthe whole wide world;himself the universal man;lives a measured life,nothing too little or too much;the universal man, himself
as ‘rules for haiku’.
about it and I said,I have nothing to say…maybe that’s a better place to start.So should we keep a curtained silenceabout it? Stuff cottonwool in that woundthat never quite heals, once made?Or run down the street, knocking bang bang at all the doors,shouting tell me about death… andbefore that stranger knocks at your own doorand…
yet assume she’ll stay with you?
because
