January 13th, 2019

I look in lighted windows across the rainy way
Sunk recessed from pillars watched o’er by ceramic rays
behind the panes are strands of Christmas lights
And peripheral souls that I have known occasional times
I watch as they meander, & fidget to & fro
I wonder why they’re gathered, from where they’ve come & where they go.
I know inside - I know - they they are the same as me:
lost, confused, & wandering, fearfully free.
We are in this between-time, they say the liminal is now
but with this road between us, I cannot see quite how.
I have been now, I will be then,
But now I cannot tell you exactly how I’ve been.
I don’t know a thing that is; I see only what they seem -
If I knew a single thing, then I would know every thing.
Every word I write seems repetitive & trite,
So I live on faith to find my way through this rainy night.
For my words I don’t know either; again, just what they seem -
So I place no faith in what I write, or the hand that moves my pen,
But the hand within my hand is strong and knows that if I knew,
At this moment what it does, its doing would be through.
I cannot force catharsis; In vain I’d strain a vein,
Life for sure is suffering, but suffering is not pain.