Wordless

 

is a word, yes….yet, there exist moments not held by,

nor linked to, the sometimes sturdy, sometimes limiting,

sometimes crafty, often ambiguous, scaffolds of language:

 

Mushrooms in the park nestled on wet lawn

Rain splattered sidewalk

The thick-legged girl booting a soccer ball beyond the goal

A bird pirouetting along the grass, worm-searching

 

The bench where we sat and where you’re not, now

Clatter of window shades in wind

Tingle of feet after today’s run

The presence of your absence this afternoon

The memory of hugging Therese in her kitchen, silently

 

Bougainvillea blossom on the running path, red with a white dot

The shine and shimmer of my grandson’s grin

The bird alone on a bare limb overlooking the lake

Thoughts of an underlying evolving energy prior to all thought

Downtown Portland library in the afternoon

 

The bald friend with cancer sitting next to his wife at the dining table

The emptiness in my gut, wordless hole

The attempt to welcome emptiness, birthing something vague

and hopeful, unwelded to words, hidden behind time

 

The poet whose fire to express herself blazes on in beautiful evocative lines

My desire to live for a while, like the blossom on the path, wordlessly….