Midwinter Vigil


I am not made of molecules
skin, sinew or bone
those are only clothes of words
layers of abstraction rather
I am made of darkness
absence, silence, memory
sadness, regret
questions without answers
How else to make myself
an eye to watch the clouds
above endlessly passing
than to become this stillness
passive, endless, bottomless pit
where I become the dark pool
of all the world has put there
that now once the clouds
have caught fire briefly
in sunset passing lights up
infinitesimally a trillion bright
fireflies of sentinel stars
reflected carnival lights
some sort of celebration this
faint constellation of atomic light
the equations of connections
inside me: I, like you, body and soul
a theorem of love chalked
across the blackboard cosmos.

(Picture inset above is “Listening To The Sounds Of The Night” by Ally Thompson, 1955-2016)

This entry was posted in Art, Poetry, Psychology, Writing. Bookmark the permalink.

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