Night Philosophy
The clatter of rain has a personal meaning.
This is the time to meditate or write down your dreams.
But the lover can do neither, can only wander
From room to room trying not to spill what’s so precious.
Around the lover are myriad sounds
Thoughts shine through like water.
Forms, shapes, colors, stations are glorified in the morning.
Indecipherable, almost transparent.
Fear of loss takes root in the blood.
Words form, interpretations.
Miracles: no one there where someone was.
A white nightgown here where no one was.
The stars that shine shed no light
As if to show experience purifies existence.
“Experience was everything to me.”
(This is what unpracticed love would say.)
Every word must come from an act.
Difficult to know
Who will believe that.
This is the time to meditate or write down your dreams.
But the lover can do neither, can only wander
From room to room trying not to spill what’s so precious.
Around the lover are myriad sounds
Thoughts shine through like water.
Forms, shapes, colors, stations are glorified in the morning.
Indecipherable, almost transparent.
Fear of loss takes root in the blood.
Words form, interpretations.
Miracles: no one there where someone was.
A white nightgown here where no one was.
The stars that shine shed no light
As if to show experience purifies existence.
“Experience was everything to me.”
(This is what unpracticed love would say.)
Every word must come from an act.
Difficult to know
Who will believe that.
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