I'm back! Hi Patrick, Jon, everyone; thanks Alison for reinstating me.
The following poem is a work in progress. Started yesterday.
The answer to your question
can only be sung.
Can only be whooed with an umbrella-flipping wind
Can only be rained.
It cannot be Googled,
found on Wikipedia,
archived,
written or spoken.
But it can be born. The answer to your question can be born
in a plane or a tunnel
a revolving restaurant or a cave
a Hyatt or a fleapit.
Then it will need to be rained.
The answer to your question can be rained
by a guitar, can be tossed all over you
by the interplay of drums, can be splashed
hot onto your cheeks by the smile and flip,
pull and release of bass.
And by nine quiet words
and the slight nod of a
face.
***
Then the answer to your question can be felt
but you have to feel it yourself. You have to sit
in the perfunctory hush of a non-denominational chapel
and cry into empty hands. Just-emptied, sweaty hands.
Pray as someone who has never prayed before,
to presence which needs no name.
Give thanks for the miraculous loss of a dream.
Then look at the stained glass and see, sun-backlit, the
face.
***
Then sing and sing, in whatever voice you have.
Because remember what I said at the start.
The answer to your question can only be sung.
Janet
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Janet Jackson <[log in to unmask]>
Poems at Proximity:
http://www.proximity.webhop.net
"Jars of springwater are not enough
anymore. Take us down to the river!"
Rumi, trans. Coleman Barks.
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