Poetry is lifting the heavy rocks.
The rocks in the boundary between the sensed world that we agree upon,
And that ineffable world at the edges of our own consciousness.
Poetry is lifting the rocks that sit in that space,
And building them into a bridge,
That allows us to meet,
To look into each other’s eyes,
To hold each other,
Warmed at least for one moment,
At least on one side.
As the night wind swirls,
And the black river rages beneath our feet.
June 19, 2017