ashore

charles sprague pearce reading by the shore

she brought herself to this place

already knowing

the nonchalant pose

even the title of the book being read

~

last night

she had been reading poetry

and drinking wine

alone

in a small candle-shadowed apartment

drifting aimlessly

in that moment of then

the air moved slowly

through an open window

she could see

rain

falling

thick and golden

in the gaslight flare

~

in this moment of now

she is remembering

holding the rice paper umbrella's

lacquered stiffness

and forming

soft words with her eyes

sand and water

whispering

its coming and going

and she lies

still

as if washed ashore

tangled and overlooked

like so much seaweed

smooth

if you polish the rough edges off

the outside of my inside

does some of the surface smoothness

descend inside?

to be becoming

there are places of confluence

of intersection

placess of mutual support

and places

that slow growth

until we move past

and looking back

at each

as a waystation

a place

in which we were negotiating

our path

looking back

at each

as a place in which

our intentions

were forestalled

altered

modified

halted

or sent

in an entirely unexpected direction

we can see

these places

as layers

that have over time

settled beneath the surface

of our experiencing

perhaps still affecting

our trajectory

our path

we are what we were

to be becoming

a place of silence

i have a strong sense

of passing through this place

in the life i am living as steven

but i know that i am not steven

well, not exclusively

not precisely

not only

i know that

steven is "i"

the first few layers

i also know

that unpacking the "i" of steven

you'll find a collection of maps

of the knowing of himself

as perceived by himself

and then also

as perceived by others

steven is a history of events and ideas

that have been borrowed

and assembled

to create something

that is

almost an object

as real as can be sensed by the senses

felt by the heart

and known by the mind

but pull all of that away

and put it

in the drawer

of the one great moment

and i bet that there's a silence

deeper than any winter woods

no tell-tale footprints left behind

whose stories can be tracked and told

no fluttering of the wings of worldly wisdom

no birdsongs of revelation

just a place of silence

~

i am the wind that wavers

you are the certain land

i am the shadow that passes

over the sand

italicized words excerpted from "i am the wind" by zoe akins