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


Call is a bond or simply

The pleasure of acquaintance

But if there is ineffability

To touch

(without hands)

Then there might be something



That’s all I’m saying

Now, I’ll listen


C L Couch



Image by Vytalis Arnoldus from Pixabay