A Place Inside

I know
that your ears don’t listen
to what I hear
and that your eyes
don’t see the things
I see.

But can you
find a place inside you
which lets you imagine
why it is
that I have to try
to tell you?

I have to believe you
might still suddenly hear it—
the pure crystal bell
of a wire harp string
in O’Carolan’s “Farewell to Music”
like an unearthly touch
on your own heartstring
and then you would listen
as though you had been
captured by forever.

I can’t bear even now
to surrender my hope
that in some eggshell sunrise
you might slowly see it—
the dawning outline of a deer
head downward
at the misty edge of the world—

or be delicately seized
at the corner of your eye
and drawn into the clear lens
of a single bead of water
knowing yourself
to be falling upward
into the Well at The End of The World.


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