For Dorothy, From Will Like a householder at winter dusk, pulling down one blind then another, are you on some time table I cannot comprehend shuttered within warm against the onset of change? Are you captive inside the bright casket of a failing brain, or am I prisoner, shut outside in this night’s long slow advance? You seem lighter than before, unburdened by memory and habit, you sing still but the quavery voice, off key, that I hear is not what you are listening to. What do you hear now, here now, beside me? Close by but out of reach, as you wait between the worlds, do you hear glory rolling through on golden clouds, inside, outside, is that untranslated joy the threshold where we meet?
Diana Durham is the author of four poetry collections: Sea of Glass, To the End of the Night, Between Two Worlds and Labyrinth; the novel The Curve of the Land and two nonfiction books: The Return of King Arthur and Coherent Self, Coherent World: a new synthesis of Myth, Metaphysics & Bohm’s Implicate Order.
This poem made me take another look, another listen. What a wonderful meditation on the here and the not here.
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