If I could grasp the nature of the loss,
then I might plan a journey and a search.
My emissary dreams fly back, across
a length of years and lands, and lightly perch
on a remembered twig and scan the past.
It may have been a face, a place, a key,
a rosy bit of feldspar, or a last
unspotted page of childhood diary.
I only know I lost beside a river
a shred of life my quiet labors need.
Bird-thoughts and I have long tried to discover
something elusive as a mustard seed.
It could be that one day the river stole
and carried to the endless sea my soul.
Hear, hear! I'm with Raynette. This stands out in every way. Wonderful!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is much good stuff in here, in this quest for that elusive quality of the present that slips unnoticed into the past where it lies dormant for years before taunting us vaguely and hauntingly. A fine attempt at trying to express the inexpressible, fluid and wistful, with a convincing selection of images. jim