And the light shone in darkness and
Against the Word the unstilled world still whirled
About the centre of the silent Word.
-T. S. Eliot
Words I speak, laid out in lines
never seem straight; what I say
twists and turns and never seem to end
in the place I set out for--an certainly
of uncertainty that is almost a comfort; This trustspeak
dares to plumb unsounded wounds
chimeric hopes; a game of roulette with words; Yet
I have come to to feel safe, playing.
With presence, breath, language, so sharp--
it cuts away, with love and gentleness
the heaviness, dead weight of what is lost----
shackles that keep us low and still.
Even now I have I glimpse, a sense of that morning,
that day when the sun will not set----and we will rise.