The weight of
the unspoken words
sink the paper boats.
What I had written
before I knew you,
I have given to the wind.
What I have written
since I have known you,
I have given to the wind.
Pilgrims on their knees,
temple to temple,
ashes to ashes.
- Winter 1994
1 comment:
WE all know that in particular and sometimes in the most private moments, that in silence, there is sometimes reverence which can be filled with volumes so deep, words cannot touch.
At the same time, there is something so infintely precious about each second - a world unto itself; then like that, gone - a fleeting thing.
Your poem reminds me of a Tibetan Sand Mandala, or Life - if done to its fullest, with intention, weighted, like a prayer, the result - a living kaleidoscope of expression - and then once complete (whatever that means), it is suddenly gone, dispersed, released. What a lesson.
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