The talking
shadow had its day
It stretched,
it lingered, and it failed
I had
to sit inside that wake
Not quite
believing, not quite at pace
I found
the words but not the page
A living
writer that ate the sage
I did
not know it, did not feel it then
Talking
to the gods, seemed out of place
And still
this moral centre of things
This
call to be straight rather than bent
While
bending in order to reach
That
slipping light, that rolling height
I did
not see the symmetry of things
Never
being good at math
It escaped
me
Until
I could see it as a story
Yet,
this is not that tale
This
is something else
Trapped
in my heart since I was a child
Something
beautiful, something constant, something holy and wild
The constant
failing
The hidden
despair
The trial
and error of cosmic love
Does
not move you, God