Exercise

for the full effect, print the poem out and hold it in your hands.

The poem,

In the hands of the reader,

Marks the time with rhythm

Which holds the words

That point beyond the page.

 

Like the rising sun

Which gives the earth its first light,

You give the poem to the mind

That finds you in the page

When it points to its beyond.

 

But yesterday still beckons

The mind that contemplates

The poem that gives the invitation

To leave it all behind…

Reviews

[SkinlessFrank]

Reminds me of the infinite regress of holding one mirror up to another mirror...we lose ourselves in the image, the way we do in poetry, and then wonder whether we are real or is it simply all in our heads?