You have not known what you are.
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.
The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...
You have slumbered upon yourself all your life.
Your eyes have been as much as closed most of the time.
What you have done is already in mockeries.
The mockeries are not you.
Underneath them
And within them,
I see you lurk...
-Walt Whitman
11.10.15
free space
TO MISS YOU is to search for you in the muted colors of the day, underneath faint shadows, behind the misty summer sunlight. You are that wisp of cloud lying exactly where the day perfectly blends into night, or that lone chord - a musical phrase I hear, eyes closed, in the incessant hum of the engine of the bus I’m on. Because to miss you is too look for and find you in the most mundane of things, to sigh out an insignificant breath, desperate for your words to take in instead, deeply, until they reach that free space where I have always looked and have kept you.
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