On communication

[kaberett]

Last time, I left you with a tightrope - and applause. This time, well -- I find it hard to spend time with people I don't know well; I find it hard to get to know people; I find it hard to trust. This is the source of a great deal of on-going soul-searching and the beneficiary, I suppose one could say, of a great deal of my time and money.

There's one obvious exception to this, and that's poetry.

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BETWEEN

As we fall into step I ask a penny for your thoughts,
"Oh, nothing," you say, "well, nothing so easily bought."

Sliding into the rhythm of your silence, I almost forget
how lonely I'd been until that autumn morning we met.

At bedtime up along my childhood's stairway, tongues
of fire cast shadows. Too earnest, too highstrung.

My desire is endless: others ended when I'd only started.
Then, there was you: so whole-hog, so wholehearted.

Think of the thousands of nights and the shadows fraught.
And the mornings of light. I try to read your thought.

In the strange openness of your face, I'm powerless,
Always this love. Always this infinity between us.

-- Micheal O Siadhail

This post is adapted from something that first appeared in my own journal last week - and has been added to. One more to go...