It was a masterful piece of guilt theater, you have to admit
— I held out just long enough before I cracked;
I gave just the right weight to the confession,
spent just enough time on obfuscations and denials.
You threw in a few unexpected twists, but I handled them adroitly —
no stranger to this performance.
Next time it’s your turn.
Each of us is always performing,
whether we mean to or not.
We can’t help it.
Not acting is the worst acting of all.
Know your role, play it to the hilt,
or you may find there is no one behind the mask you wear.
Sometimes I want very much to descend
down the well of solitude
to splash soundlessly into the cool, dark waters of silence
to bathe myself in it, as one treading water at the bottom of a well
in the stone-damp, inviting dark
and wash the sweat and grit and sunburn from my soul
cleanse myself, far below the tiny dot of light at the mouth of the well
float there, serene, alone, undisturbed
until my anxieties, my doubts, my neverending second guesses,
dissolve and sink away,
in the well of silence,
where no one can find me or reach me.
Are you quieter when you walk sideways? Do people hear you less? Do you make less noise? Many's the time I've slipped sideways through people's society -- like slipping through their houses when there was no house in broad daylight unseen, unknown, unheard like a noiseless ghost whose story no one knows -- - or ever bothered to ask.
tracks of a leaf
rolled by the wind
across the white snow
pristine — save those delicate tracks
testament to what had once been here.
will what I do endure any more than that?
will my sweat, toil, heartaches,
tears, pleas, cries,
be no more lasting
than tracks of a leaf rolled by the winter wind
upon the pristine face of the snow?
You can truly lose yourself in the tulips, she says
— and the tulips go away
and the peonies come,
and the peonies are going
and the delphinium is coming in
and the delphiniums go
and the dahlias are there.
I love that flowers can tell time.
And that they bring back so many memories or emotions from a time gone by.
The field trembling in the dark
waits for the dawn, the coming
of the morning light
and the rains
that will moisten, soften,
swell and grow.
So also I,
tenderly reaching for you,
hope to find you,
the field trembling in the dark.