Tapestry

[tylik]

I. Rain

It's raining now. I've always loved the rain, particularly in the boat,
loved the sounds, loved how the falling rain lets you see the wind moving in waves,
and loved the way weather pulls your thoughts into a different scope,
beyond your accustomed sphere and leads you to consider
the sky, the storm, the weather system.

I have often imagined that I would become some day
insubstantial to the rain, that the wind would blow through me,
scouring me and blowing all fetters and all accretions.

II. The Sciences

I imagine sometimes that we were searching together,
seeking a path that was real, alive and rigorous, a point of leverage
from which to affect our own transformations.
And I don't think we ever quite defined real
-- was it tradition? was it power? was it hidden knowledge?

I have always loved the slap of the road against my feet,
and even my face.

III. The House

Craig has said he would like to keep the house now, and buy me out,
and I imagine him there, but there with other people, a home full and complete
without gaps or sticky ends. Perhaps I may carefully, quietly
excise myself from this picture, let the hole fill in,
smile, and walk away.

IV. Fear and Application

I can spend a lot of time worrying about a choice,
and even then I can not choose an outcome,
but can open this door, and open that door, and throw open the windows.
I am not ready. I do not know all the relevant information, and yet
here we are, perched on the edge of now.

I can not choose to have been a better student, I can not
re-roll my past, I can not even promise better for my future.
But I can trust myself and remember that
I'm already falling.

V. Erasure

I used to write a lot about silence, and losing my name,
and yearning to escape words and the images people carry of us.
How strange to realize that this is still with me,
that to let the world touch me and change me, I must be ready to lose,
to be moved, for my space to be filled,
to open the window, and let the rain in.






This is incredibly rough, and in fact, if you think of a prose poem, than this is closer to poetic prose. (Being prosaic language in the shape of a poem.) And I don't know if I'll do anything with it, as it's really about a moment, and might even cease to interest me tomorrow... (Though I really want to rework the fourth section, which particularly bites and should be gutted and replaced. )