Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Sunday, November 18, 2012
a passionate and gentle voice
Whatever contact I have with hopeIs clear to me on certain morningsWhen a voice slipsInto my mind like a shySuggestion of loveThat nothing will deny.It is a passionate and gentle voiceAuthentic as a patch of sunlightOn a floor inside a windowAnd it has always spoken the same words:'I live in the stripped branch,Dying flowers on the kitchen table,Pools of water after a stormUncomprehending as childrenStrayed from their parents in a crowded town.You understand I do not exhort.My state is one of waitingFor you, for the most part,And I am helpless till you observe meWith your electric bloodAnd your eyesRedeemed from the tedium by the desireTo knowWhy something begins to stirIn utter stillness like a memoryThat will not let you sleep at nightBut takes possession of youAnd absorbs you into itself.So I await that morningWhen you emergeFrom the tired night as from a mistInto a decision of sunlightWhere I exist.'~ Brendan Kennelly
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