Reach
I’ve been drafting
I’ll try one more time to get it right
It’s not that I’m miffed
Far from it
(and how much would that matter)
I simply want to pierce a little
Just a little
A slice of shard
Of the dark glass
I don’t have a method, really
An art or a science
Theory of a skill
But I have a desire
Not to prove a staff can be a snake
A stone turned into bread
Angels dancing on a pin
(it’s not merely an exercise)
It’s not merely an exercise
I want enough
To tell another
That faith might be unseen
Unheard, untouched, and so on
But that it’s evidence enough
Understood, felt, guessed-at
So that we might
Talk about it
Or simply live
In having it
But here’s a thing:
The process is at best
A matter of unseeing
Untouching, untasting
That if, really, our senses
Could be quieted enough
(just some—I’m not recommending
deprivation tanks)
We might know
Through the intimacy of knowing
That our senses have
An ally
That we have an ally
It might be an angel or
A second guess
It might be real enough
For jazz or maybe
A hit toward the backfield wall
It isn’t only us
Not one by one
There’s something to cooperate
In us
That can reach out
And understand the other
Not so alien
I evangelize, excuse me
Take me or leave me
And I’ll understand
(either way)
You are beyond me
Yet there is something
Here
Call is a bond or simply
The pleasure of acquaintance
But if there is ineffability
To touch
(without hands)
Then there might be something
More
That’s all I’m saying
Now, I’ll listen
C L Couch
Image by Vytalis Arnoldus from Pixabay
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