The way, the beginning

We desire beginnings: for the new question 

And answer 

To love, that gives us ourselves. The look of your eyes, 

The rim of its opaque glass

Behind it—


I saw those endless hills perennially filled 

With birdsong. And the river Lethe in 

Dante’s inferno from which I drank 

To erase the memory of sin. 


Last night, I dreamt of being lost in time 

And for a moment, I was the hand 

Of a watch on the hand of a woman 

I love; 


I dreamt to run away, to find my way 

And for an instant, I found your eye 

Pulling the imaginary line that divides the earth:

That meridian on the other side 

Where the shadows of the night 

Rises to meet the morning Sun. 


There was something to be found in that dream.

A way. A beginning. 

An epiphany that not all things are loved 

But the seed of all things is sowed 

With love.

(The beginning is in the seed) 


Sometimes, the way is a fiery ring 

Through which the circus animal 

Leaps into a feral world 

Of new beginnings—


And the past takes wing, a worm in

Its beak, cuts across the noiseless air 

Towards where—

I am gazing at you walk by

In dark shapes of continual goodbyes.

There was something to be found in that dream. 

I forgot.


What was it trying to tell me, here?

That I loved you, maybe,

That I stopped.