… and the playwright.

By J. K. McDowell

March 2011

 

You cannot understand all the spaces of

Unseen beauty, the threads that touch everything and

Restore our ruins to their intended grandeur.

 

We ask “why” too often, as if somehow knowledge

Of links beyond our grasp would ease the disturbed

Tendencies of distrust and bring us any peace.

 

There is a bigger picture.  One view assembles

In the moments we cherish.  A sigh, a glance, a touch, a tear.

Then the thwack of the walking stick returns the present.

 

There is pain, the sense of danger, a warning of

Further damage to be avoided.  This Despair is

Something else, a choice to turn away from Hope.

 

This quantum flourish of impossibilities

Is not the crushing rouge wave of your favorite

Ocean of sadness.  Sink into the rise and fall of stillness.

 

J. K. yesterday you moved the false self from

Its comfortable chair and on to the chessboard.

Today, the play and the players and the playwright.

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