A middle-aged man sat on a bench in profile. Photo: By Marc Kleen on Unsplash.
Poem: A universe. A word.
'Love but not the same love...'
Love but not the same love
as one sitting here at my side
as one standing there
as the sun caressing the water
brother, mother, father, daughter
the living and the dead.
The gentle wild cat that sits where she will
on my willing, unwilling lap.
The old woman begging at the corner
the unexpected kindness of the passer-by
the stranger starving, dying, unspoken to.
This love we are to feel, we feel
fretfully, reluctantly, triumphantly
for the other and the self, perhaps the self.
Shall I say, I sit here in love,
In the silence of the blue covering limiting sky?
The warmth on my body and the frost
the rain, the memory of a day
radiant with love – gone, gone, having built
a pavilion in my heart, my mind.
Too often declared, too little, too afraid
too ambiguous, too demanding
the scars and the healing. One world
made flesh shattered resurrected.
Memories of heart open and hands closed
and passions of the future. Dare to love
the future, this moment, encounters
the extravagant dark
the blinding light?
A Universe. A Word.
