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words will never
Elizabeth Barret died in Robert Brownings arms so
don’t tell me that words will never hurt me
don’t tell me that words will never heal me
or thrill me
or show the real me to them that are willing to
hear me
them that are killing time in wonder
and pausing to remember that one sunrise four years ago
when the fog hung ephemeral and glossy like gauze
over cow ponds in rolling pastures and
the sun looked up the earth’s skirt and sighed
as the most simplistic voyeur only can
or that night in 1998 in mississippi on a full moon
when it snowed and you saw a horse standing
there in the pristine unadulterated whiteness
and the moon was so robust and pregnant with light and joy
that it cast shadows across the hills and you took
a snapshot with your mind to carry with you forever.
don’t tell me that words can’t fill me up
because while i recognize
that i am a speck of dust in Shiva’s eyes
i am also a dream he is having and in that dream robert browning heldhis wife who lay crippled and sheltered most of her life
in that dream robert browning held her and she died and
maybe became the snow on the hillside on the night of a december full moonin mississippi
maybe she became a whisp of pantone clouds hovering over a lake
maybe she became the tree that sacrificed itself to be made into paper
to be laid before robert browning and he wrote his grief over her loss
directly on to her unaware she was there she is there i am r i g h t h e r e
i am right here
a sentient dream
a self aware particle
a keystone in the universe
because without me thinking it exists it ceases to
it’s only my knowledge of it that gives it any merit
words help me bear it.
