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.