Constant

I.

These we take for granted:

seasonal variation, a sense of constant,

the everlasting solidity of earth,

underfoot; we may only see ahead

a short ways but that it will always be

enough to keep moving forward.

 

Fifteen years I followed a call,

a direction applied to my days

without explanation, without a compass,

landscapes for which mapmakers

decided not to share their wisdom.

 

How do we know we have found

That which was sought? We stop asking

it if it is the correct thing, and instead

seek its correctness in everything

else. Application of accrued observation.

 

II.

We flow through lives like water,

like blood, like oil. Few traces remain

of what we thought things might

turn out like. We call things constant,

 

forgetting that the action of water

erodes even mountains, over time.

Geologists will tell you, nothing is

ever lost. Every grain of sand we rub

from our fingers, a larger story.

 

The trick they say is learning:

the secrets of sand. Telling the best

story. If I could tell the story sweetly

enough, could you hear it? Would

you feel its truth, and stay?

 

III.

I want to undress you forever:

unbutton every fear, unzip each

desire; strip you of all burdens;

slowly, each act an unveiling, a desire

to see you naked, to draw every

 

scar to my mouth, to know the

story of every small piece. To worship

each perfect imperfection, to feel

the water as it surges through you.

I make you a constant.

All this time: it is the correctness

of you I have sought in every

sunset, every song, every poem;

every arching grandness of every

landscape. Your presence discovered

in infinite grains of sand.

 

IV.

If a season could extend a lifetime,

we would call that, our constant. We

would say that odds were defeated, that

roses bloomed in winter, that we

saw spring in every act of generosity.

 

We would say that fear dissolved in

water, we would say that blood

nourished from within, we would say

that the oil was only ever of the type

to penetrate and nurture the skin.

 

We could reach and hold every one

of these things, if only we learned that

fear has no place in the infinite. That

doubt itself is a constant, the earth shifts.

Its movement overwhelms us.

 

and we move forward, we let it

overwhelm for its time, and then

if we have any courage, 

we do the thing anyway.

Reviews

[W.k.kortas]

Well, it's a journey on several levels, isn't it? The whole thing is quite breathtaking in scope, a mix of the tangible and earthbound (not the right word at all, really, but...) and the ethereal. The third section is, in and of itself, one of the most remarkable love poems I have ever read, and the final section is simply pitch-perfect and stunningly beautiful. Maybe the finest work you've done, which is saying a mouthful.

[Nolo Segundo]

This is a remarkable poem, both profound and beautiful ('...we flow through lives like water"). It reveals you mind has many tentacles, probing into corners of 'The Mystery' most people aren't even aware of-- or such is my impression.

[Sasha]

I loved this one a lot. Great poem. Thanks for sharing.

[jacob erin-cilberto]

movement overwhelms but if we have the courage to move forward and embrace life...we won't lose...i love all the philosophy in this piece, enjoy the entire poem, but part 3 especially blew me away, Marie--

just exceptional poetry here.