I cannot speak for other poets.

I cannot know what moves them.

I cannot know what churns their luminous spears of truth across the vastness.

I cannot know if it is pain or union,

disappointment in man

or celebration.

I only know a ‘settling into’ occurs that is not a ‘settling for’.

I only know eyes cease being cast directly

and become tips of wings sweeping water.

I cannot speak for other poets.

I cannot know if they have found

the same home in solitude as I.

I only know

when we are done

— whether just for the evening,

or at the end of it all —

something unseen

has lassoed us

bound us together

corralled us

into a place where we become kin.

From there, I look out from eyes that have given up all seeking.

I see the constant angel who accompanies us.

It is to her

and you

that I pledge allegiance.

(c) 2019 / Frank LaRue Owen / purelandpoetry.com

sound: Distant Look / Forgotten Gods / Suspended Memories

image: feather / Javardh

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