Sunday, November 18, 2012

a passionate and gentle voice

Whatever contact I have with hope
Is clear to me on certain mornings
When a voice slips

Into my mind like a shy
Suggestion of love
That nothing will deny.

It is a passionate and gentle voice
Authentic as a patch of sunlight 
On a floor inside a window

And it has always spoken the same words:
'I live in the stripped branch,
Dying flowers on the kitchen table,

Pools of water after a storm
Uncomprehending as children
Strayed from their parents in a crowded town.

You understand I do not exhort.
My state is one of waiting
For you, for the most part,

And I am helpless till you observe me
With your electric blood
And your eyes

Redeemed from the tedium by the desire
To know
Why something begins to stir

In utter stillness like a memory
That will not let you sleep at night
But takes possession of you

And absorbs you into itself.
So I await that morning
When you emerge

From the tired night as from a mist
Into a decision of sunlight
Where I exist.'

~ Brendan Kennelly

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