Thursday, January 4, 2018

Dissolution


Why do I insist on the inimitability of perception?
That the blue I see is not the blue you view?
Am I comforted by the illimitability of deception
proving nothing can be proven to be true?
.
I’ve just come back from walking through the snow.
I’d watched it coming down in what the wind blew
cinematically in squalls and drifts across my window:
persuasive evidence that what I saw was there. Few
.
moments can persuade like this: wherein I barely
think to ask if what I’m seeing has occurred.
In fact, belief in it grew absolute – how rarely
trust to that degree has breached my world! Word
.
no longer was a symbol: it was indistinguishable
from a palpable Reality: this “snow” was snow.
And so I walked into it in an un-extinguishable
light, both real and in my sight, to undergo
.
what I was sure would be the actual.
That I wouldn’t do what now I only do: refuse.
That to find what I had thought I sought, the factual,
would not have led to dissolution, or killed my muse.
.
When things are real
they tear apart
the heart. They steal
your art.

.


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