Whence do eyes repair

(jm)

by T.P. Wilkinson / November 19th, 2017

within
the silent rooms
where we weep
tracing our fingers
our toes in the deep
finding the form
inch by inch
cautiously
touching
the rough boards
beneath
the light switch
too far
the blanket
too warm
our eyes
turned inward
avoiding
the scars
when finally
when firmly
we the distant
door reach
in our dreams
in cool streams
may we sleep.
when we cannot read
we must listen
not yearn to write
but learn to sing.

T.P. Wilkinson, Dr. rer. pol. writes, teaches History and English, directs theatre and coaches cricket between the cradles of Heine and Saramago. He is author of Unbecoming American: A War Memoir and also Church Clothes, Land, Mission and the End of Apartheid in South Africa. Read other articles by T.P..

This article was posted on Sunday, November 19th, 2017 at 8:03am and is filed under Poetry.