Insufficiencies and feints -
intentions fill, by the end incomplete;
shards and fragments pieced together
to line your basket - never quite meet
- (obverse to the parable)
space comes down
to color, and light: not
to fullness, not to measure.
Only to pass through
Pass on.
I've been thinking about this poem this morning, how beautifully expressed it is..."not/to fullness, not to measure." But it leaves me so sad. Am I reading it correctly in feeling a lack, a yearning? or are color and light passing through as it should be?
ReplyDeleteI think I waver between acceptance and resignation, and the light is where I look when I feel the yearning; the yearning is maybe to change what has passed or to know what will come - a yearning for certainty that what will be will suffice in the end. In the meanwhile, my peripheral vision informs me that what is, now, is already plenty.
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