I've learned mine can't be filled,
only alchemized. Many times
it's become a paragraph or a page.
But usually I've hidden it,
not knowing until too late
how enormous it grows in its dark.
Or how obvious it gets
when I've donned, say, my good
cordovans and my fine tweed vest
and walked into a room with a smile.
I might as well have been a man
with a fez and a faux silver cane.
Better, I know now, to dress it plain,
to say out loud
to some right person
in some right place
that there's something not there
in me, something I can't name.
That some right person
has just lit a fire under the kettle.
She hasn't said a word.
Beneath her blue shawl
she, too, conceals a world.
But she's been amazed
how much I seem to need my emptiness,
amazed I won't let it go.
Marvelous poem. We all have a world concealed within. It floats like a cloud in the vastness of blue sky. Call it empty or call it filled with endless possibilities.
she, too, conceals a world. But she's been amazed how much I seem to need my emptiness, amazed I won't let it go... a very good poem. tony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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