from “An Encounter”
I confessed that I am afraid to die
with poems left unsaid inside me,
and he said, “You will.
You’ll die with a great poem in your heart
that will never see paper.”
We were quiet then. A bee buzzed
perilously close to my sweaty thigh,
and I heard it: I heard
the danger and sweetness inside everything.
(“An Encounter” © Alison Luterman in The Sun, January, 2010)
We suffer, wanting to make our mark, leave our mark, and be remembered. We suffer, because we think we must know what we won’t know will no longer be able to know cannot know. We suffer- too often- simply because we are unable to say so.
So. And our words tumble, in unknown tongues.
So. We mumble through sighs and groans.
So. And then we are breathed upon and it becomes clear that we are that great poem, the greatest poem, and it is being written by Both of Us in languages that can’t be counted and it will always be written and it will always be read..
© David Weber