She said I would know when I finally knew.

She said I would no longer speak once I had seen.

I assumed, then, it would be freeing;

not a nail in the coffin of thinking,

not a final turning-toward silence.

Like so many others first setting out,

I mistook the initial departing as foreshadowing —

of some kind of great impending arrival.

No.

No arrival.

No departure.

No terrain.

No more travels.

No more reaching.

Only falling away.


Speechless

like one who has crossed-over

come back

not allowed to stay —

there is only noticing,

with nothing left to say.


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

sound: Noora / Sylvi / Igneous Flame

image: Sunrise in Paradise / Lucia Otero

1 Comment