“I love the sensation of shelter from
the storm.
I like it when it rains outside,
how it makes me feel warm.”
she said.
“I used to feel like that.”
I said back. “It’s a safety thing, I think”.
You said “Maybe…”
& I replied:
“It doesn’t happen now though, now the sound
just makes me sad.”
“Why?” you asked
“I can’t say I think about it
all that much any more…I just
don’t care.
It isn’t worth a waste of words.”
Then we were silent:
I was evading the question
again.
****
Created from a structure of complex
cells & cells we find ourselves in,
always questioning more than answering;
lost in
the distance between who we are & what we love;
the difference
between what we do &
what we dream:
both subject & object,
language & animal playing games in the cave…
We’re the process of knowing that
we’re reading this poem;
body & mind,
trapped between time & the view from nowhere*;
double-helix dance of meaning.
****
Security is the supremacy
of survival.
To survive is a zero-sum gamed played
against the Universe,
ritual is the same old tool we always use
to defend against improbable odds:
compulsions of culture, nature
& the vagaries of contingency
create a worship of the Self,
but worship has always been dangerous:
people do not treat their gods well.
If they did
there’d be less fear of Hell,
or banishment.
****
“I wish I could feel content again, like
when we were young,
but I’m trapped by everything I
have and haven’t done”
I said.
“But you are content” you
said back. “You told me once,
that only the moments of fleeting, true
feelings mean anything to you”.
“I say a lot of things my love..
& I talk far too much”.
Then our eyes found each other &
you smiled
as I fell silent.
Words for Ghosts 