A poem arises catching the energy, imparting meaning, hestitatingly, faltering for words, images, rhythms.
My love for you.
Slowly through endless revisions,
shaping this love.
Disparate layers emerge, an undercurrent infiltered with strands, approaches, understandings, memories, hopes, desires, the way the sensual mind composes.
We create ourselves through each other. It's more complete,
who I am with you.
Not a version of reality but a veil of being,
the poem of love that is
a transparent garment we clothe ourselves with,
our metaphors and concepts of a world
which resists
our gaze.
Writing is a deeply
meditative act.
A language of love.
A listening.
Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
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'serpent of leaves' appears in impromptu dance
Dancing over a rabbit warren in the roots of a green ash that was infected by the emerald borer and was cut down years ago, I wove my way up...
"...it's more complete, who i am with you."
ReplyDeleteis this because your "muse" creates a light for you to see yourself more clearly and allows you to feel yourself more deeply and opens you to understand yourself more fully?
Sky, oh sweet Sky! How can I answer? I will muse on what you ask and return with a response. Good question my brilliant friend! xo
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