Poetry without… – by Suzanne Vesely
Hold the word to your heart.
Depend fully on appearances.
on railroad ties going nowhere,
on flocks of geese going somewhere
on houses in rows
or angels or poets or devatas at work.
Depend on the infinitesimal point.
Let it drop.
Let it open.
The first poet yearns,
The second savors,
a third connects in mother tongues
Like that, we acquiesce
to the uncreated center of everything
beyond the realm of yes and no.
Lately, the dreams have returned:
Obama in a floral shroud
listening, on his birthday, to us all
giving us a mandate:
make contact. Connect. Connect.
Dream of a falling sequoia
pushed to my right by invisible forces
just in time.
Dream of April, and how glad women will be
When she comes at last.
…Without an object
How easy, this speaking of objects.
But allow the point to descend
inside your own
vastness: nothing and only nothing
Without an object
awakening deep structures,
form words, make connections…