Describing the indescribable – attempt three (Aug 2010)

13 Nov

I went for a walk today
and, almost home
I came across a sensation
one that I can hold
but I can’t call it anything
for it is like…

love
only… there’s something
foreign in it for me

– all I can say is
love… something
love…
oh not a thing, but, hmm…

it’s like I have a beautiful
dark-wood bookshelf
tall and sturdy
it’s polished and carved
stately and inviting
and I want to fill it with books
only, I don’t’ have any books
no books to fill such a beautiful space

yes it’s like that… maybe
or it’s like I have the most precious
set of texts
lovingly bound and desirously tactile
and I hold them with such warmth
and affection and I see them
all squarely and neatly stacked
hovering in the air
as if waiting for a bookshelf

and as long as my joy
at this cargo is present
they stay there hovering
content…

yet as soon as I slide from that state
(like maybe I think
I want a bookshelf
to hold all this in place)
the books crumple to the floor
forsaken

yeah… it’s like that
like both of these
at the same time
and without the other
independent

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