there are cracks in everything

Typewriter5by Dryden14 Jun 2014

i beg him to give words to that domain of despair

and he obliges:
most of the time
there are next to no words
most of the time
“nothing” sums it up
he says

he could try for more he says
but the marathon of his mind
has left him tired – too tired
but because i can’t let it go
because words are a blanket for
me we
sit in silence
while i chase expression
for him
for me: to imagine
his altered states
his inconstant realities
to imagine the “nothing” he claims
what is the “nothing”?

perhaps a northern landscape
empty save for its frozen mirage
of the snowbound infinite

maybe an ink-black wind
scribbling – scratching – scouring
the insides of his eyelids

or a body betrayed by
mystified muscles
by aching tones of creaking bones

yet what i want
may not have a place
here
may be misplaced
here

when from out of the here
my uncle leonard’s voice croaks
(there is a crack in everything
that’s how the light gets in)*

so quietly we sit
in the mirage
the black wind blowing
through muscles and bones

sitting in silence
together and still
feeling the fractures
spying the cracks

waiting for light
the still and silent light
begging for the black to snap
waiting for the still and silent sight

*from Leonard Cohen’s Anthem