I can’t love you and be in time.
time, with all its methods of memory,
all of its comparative moments are intruding.
I don’t want love to be supported by proof.
I don’t want conviction to be my lyrics.
I hardly want the experience of it
to be a happening as a professing.
that I love is the capture of me.
it is of and passes through.
it is blessed before any sense of claim.
realization is a minor happenstance.
that I love you is unframable by dimensions.
I am not a me that is loving.
it is a truth that has a life I live within.
I am besides myself to think I love you,
for that is a me, riding shotgun to a gift of being.
there is a radiance I cannot control,
that I cannot begin to measure or declare.
I can hardly breath in the experience
for I am drowning
in that which passes through me
as if my calling it love makes it so.
time offers no measure,
no basis for a sense of supreme worth.
even worth is a small-minded view,
no measure to this constancy of flow.
these words of themselves are demeaning,
for they ask for understanding,
when none is intentionally implied.
if you understand what I am saying,
then leap off this scripted page.
leave behind even understanding’s wealth
and be, beyond what time can measure
and language can offer to account.
love, being beyond, offers no frame of enclosure.
love is the only word to leap off this page
and say nothing that matters
and yet everything that is true,
existing beyond belief . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment