Visitations

If only it was nothing but words,

clever juxtapositions,

sound patterned on image,

space between words

speaking of other places,

vulnerable and vibrant,

and nothing else.

If only eye lied

if touch was unreal

and tears made of water

and not some substance born in heart.

But words and spaces,

silence and touch,

passing trains

and unbelievable sunsets

the quietude of moment

of clasped hands and fingertips moving

the bliss of knowing

that even the hardest embrace

can be tender

and can encapsulate softness,

these things linger

in the acid-free paper of recollection.

And though I know

that sharing is possible

only when receiving is sanctioned,

I send this,

not as lament or invitation

but a gesture that refuses to grow old

or acknowledge redundancy.

In any event,

a harmless note

made of a yesterday that says 'present'

in the irregularity of off-season flowering.

[from the collection 'Threads,' shortlisted for the Gratiaen Award 2007]

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