The Path Of Memory Poem by Daniel Brick

For my twin sister, Mary

We live chiefly through language. Names
are the handles we grasp to lift experiences
into consciousness. Everything must be lifted
at some point; everything must move or be moved.
Hearts must be moved, or they shrivel and fade away.
Minds must be moved, or they become dry and listless.
Memories must be moved, or they sink so deeply
into the webs of mind they are reduced to pale echoes,
no longer inspiring the breath of poets and bards.
The Path of Memory must stay wide open so that Time
can press forward, turn backward or stay perfectly fixed.
Are we humans not the agonized witnessesof the movements
of Time, and do not poets transform what is agony this moment
into joy in the next moment?

Second Thoughts at Seventy

SECOND THOUGHTS AT SEVENTY

After the dazzle of the day is gone,
Only the dark, dark night shows to my eyes the stars;
After the clangor majestic of the organ, or chorus, or perfect band,
Silent, athwart my soul, moves the Symphony true.

from SANDS AT SEVENTY by WALT WHITMAN