Within Hiatus
 

The night is bare of words.
Only darkness, asphalt lit
by lights that hide the stars.

As I walk in some sort bereft, confused,
mind is littered with promise and limitations -
nothing wrests order or shapes form;

as hapless phrase and syllable shrivel, however,
in this wind wordlessly, lone on a dark street
I realize that perhaps I had a quest

though long ago I forgot its goal and meaning,
though I never knew if there were prize;
now, in dark silence I am not sure

I find no words of confidence, no image on my breath:
at last I must believe, must wait
listen for the first whispers of worded inspiration

and look for reflections in their glass not my own.
 
 

Patrick Alexander

Back to Divan Contents