WINTER ' FOURTEEN
didn’t know what I was talking about so I left the matter stand as it stood and was on my way.
Cheerio!
Secretly I unwind my spool and travel back and forth within the maze. Secretly. Am beast and seeker.
The one who knows that the way in is not necessarily the way out. Yet I go deeper in so as not yet to go
out. Unwinding as I go a golden thread to defy the works of minotaur.
But brightness now about me. Nor darkness overtake me. Nor silence come upon my mouth. Nor
does my hand shake in trembling at the necessities of the day. And if he saw me outside the library –
what of it? His eyes can never know my purpose nor the schemes to which I have set myself. Library: I
will write a fine page. I will have no gilded web about me but I will write a fine page.
Now to my steps tempo my thoughts also. Am I already taking leave of familiar sights and sounds
while carrying their essence within me? If so it will be so but there will be no silence. Nor gilded pages
lure me from my purpose. I will write a fine page.
See him and her but I do not want to see them. Pass on as if un-noticing their gestures and not
hearing their callings from the opposite side of the street. Their gesture are not mine to recognise and
respond to. Useless words exchanged and the pleasantries gone through like a weekly ritual: How are
you today? Fine weather for a stroll. How is the work coming along?
Bah! I will have none of it. Only essentials. That’s what matters. All the rest can flow away from me
like useless water to a puddle.
Mud-water. Between the paving stones. Left-over’s from yesterday’s rain. Their words and gestures
also. Formalities I have neither time nor inclination for. An embarrassment not to be responded to.
Gull and wave – sweet weaves of time as might be sung in a song (I will be that singer).
The transubstantiating sea. And a gull’s arabesque-hail mystery of craft and flight. Unto me be these
things of the day.
Choir of the day my reply sir, my reply. Alpha, alpha, alpha.
Undertones.
Under the tones of bells I pass which tell the time and tell their convictions. Soft seepage of certain
words and utterances as if I am required to dress for certain occasions. Hat and cane, a steady walk that
does not break into a trot. Gentleman thus. Impoverish guardian of imperishable. Custodian.
Yet I guard only myself and the intentions of the sea. His undertones in his questions which always
begin with
“Tell me…’ and I told him.
The unspoken undertones in her eyes looking directly at me. Sea of glass with white horse waves.
Carry me, carry me. It is my impoverishment I guard. Naked pockets. Not a coin for the rattling yet of
this I make my proud music. Light on the sea against that darkness I must guard myself against.
-Tell me
I will tell but I will not turn back no more than I will disown.
Dreams my dreams are of the sea not his shadow coming across the floor from the doorway he
blocked up.
So what language must I now speak and with what verbs will I form an alliance?
-Tell me
I will tell but the telling will be mine no according to tradition even as I embrace the impoverishment
The Linnet's Wings