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WRITING AROUND THE BEND

I was summoned



I was summoned






It was at the stroke of quiescence…that she arrived
looking for me I don't know where
she came from. tangled whispers on her lips
a brook or a breeze in her hair.
I don't know how or when
no, it was not a note from a song
that hovered on her heart.
a memory  and some splinters of images
shards of dreams and bouquets
of nostalgia
were flung around
declaring her arrival.

from a shore I was summoned
from the branches of a dusk
that I had long forgotten
and folded in 
muslin to keep
in an attic.
perhaps it was the cry of dried petals
of a lavender that I had plucked
last summer
that brought me to her.
meeting  me alone
at the beat of a deafening roll in my veins
she sighed and  flowed into my reverie.

there I was without a thought
or a note from a song.
I did not know what to say. my tongue
had no way
with sound
my eyes were blinded
and something turned in my breast.
A fullness summoned from the depths of the sea
a wailing overflowing from the cornucopia of pathos.
I waded
trying to decipher
that song.
I wrote the first line
faint, without core
pure uncertanty..
pure wisdom
of someone who knows nothing
has never known anything.
and suddenly I was swimming
in the seas
unfastened
and open
primal images catapulting in a torrent
shadows  perforated,
a conundrum of 
thrashing swishing swirling swallowing
vortex…
I drowned to meet this poem.
                                                                                                                          

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