The House of Mystery

 

1.
How many steps have you counted

when writing someone else’s poem?

2.
You must know, after all this time,
there are no missteps.

One simply begins and stops
and begins again.

3.
At the end of each day,
after a day well sung,
when the traffic slows,
when the birds commune
in their fine collaboration of silence,

your life unravels too, of its own accord.

4.
your heart may be breaking,
while the platform of meaning
that you once called mind
may turn its prismatic glasses
in every direction
except the one towards you,

5.
do not attach yourself to this dismantling.

6.
You are everywhere and everything to everyone
and yet,
your smallness,
and yes, your lack of influence,

is a part of your perfect design.

7.
At dusk, you stood at the sliding door, looked out
into the yard.
Although you felt the day, the memory of heat and breeze
rush toward you in a long inhale,
you did not cross.

8.
The thing that distinguishes you
from the world
is a thin veil barely spun,
a whisper of words
which precede meaning,

separating everything inside you

from the canopy of things to come.

9.
Stay here,

10.
listen

to the bones of the house
move and awaken.
Fall in love with each door that sticks,
let every gaze be a caress
along the growing piles of things
to do or not to do.

11.
Today, you play at all sides of your story,
with the intelligence of the sun
or the moon
or the lamp light on the desk
(it makes no difference
from where you gather your strength),

12.
this house holds you,
considers you
in your totality,
that you might climb to the roof and
admire the constellation of dancing truths
that you now remember,
or

13.
have never
forgotten:

14.
Between the curtain from night to dawn,

there is nothing to say and nothing to do.

15.
This is how you sit in the house of mystery.

Let all things come to you.