Poem a Day - 2013 - Day 3

Write a tentative poem.

shootphooey.
lost the original of this, which I liked.
maybe I'll remember more later.
ah well.
detachment.


Making Sense

I have wasted my life on these four things:

believing I won't die
wondering if its true that I can be seen
wondering if I speak if I can be heard
wondering if words do anything but destroy

sense

strange (or not) that meaning and perception
are the same

I am an invisible eye
and am all that I see, as far as I see
my name - a distinction
barely
between breathing and air.

my size is indefinite to me
it expands down avenues
and fills vaults
changing its composition
of air
to light

I am everywhere, a dispersion
of memory and yearning
or I am here curled, contained
in this dear body, warming.

I make love as water
folding over as a wave
into ourselves,
my arms, arms, these mine,
but also, made only
of time
and only briefly

My voice is always a surprise to me

- an awkward, too quiet attempt,
at unpolished anecdotes, while the moon waits,
slips like truth,

at the back of my throat.

I do see I am not not invisible.
The body is not an afterthought.
But it is porous
Spring travels through me in spiraling paths,
trajectories of energy.  Sometimes I am all petals or all scent
all Tuesday, all love.

This doesn't make for good stories,
though I am immortal
and dying at the same time.

There is no point in speaking of this.
Maybe as a poem.
Not in the the words people use when they see each other
when they sit across from one another and use words
as if they actually speak of what they know
of what life is
and how living feels.