Mist-Bound Poem by Denis Mair
Mist-Bound
Where do we go in sessions of rapt thought?
Let us follow the stations of a poet's pilgrimage
The mind goes down a street lined with facades
Puts reflexes in charge of driving their own car
The locus of sentience must shift to mark time
It slides like a spotlight over sedimentary rocks
Sets itself apart from all its formulations
Ties them with ribbon, sends them downstream
Sees memories fade to abstract reminders
Finds them later wrapped in colorful dreams
Gets lost at times from boundaries it lived by
Churning up a cloud of hyphenated roads
Eking out a journey through their dust
One special moment envisions a gift to the tribe
Its grand conception engorged with my passion
But rare is the seedling that gets enough sap
Time drains its vitality, and even regrets over that
Turn to mists that locate me in no particular place
How far into non-local space could eyes ever peer?
All formations are stretched thin in an abyss
Hence each knows its season of wintry death
A song holds out a thread, calls to a sacred goal
Or a song may only tantalize on the way to limbo
If we cannot set ourselves squarely on a path
Then we must ask, when will the mists lift?
If no songs of celebration help us on our way
Then we must ask, when will the mists lift?
That was the most detailed, lucid, exploration of the mind of a poet that I have ever seen- -quite possibly the only one I've seen. I took to that terrain and clung to those narrow paths above the abyss, dodged the dust from those hyphenated roads- -your images tickled my soul. You have a fascinating, analytical, and highly educated mind and I feel my horizons stretching with the reading of every one of your poems. Thank you, my faraway friend, for taking time with me and my work.You are appreciated, you know!
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4/23/2024 4:25:07 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Where do we go in sessions of rapt Let us follow the station's of a poet's pilgrimage- - A flight to the imaginative world of a poet.Thanks for sharing a beautiful write.