I must have written this on a quiet night. Occasionally I get depressed. Then the forward flow of life is arrested and a disappointment settles over all. It might be triggered by something in particular, but the soft grey that settles has no particular focus. It locks out light and leaves you sitting energy-less and incapable of rising to the words of love that the sufferers around you deserve for their forbearance.
Fortunately, it's not a very regular visitor in my case, and after a day or few days, I'm back, slightly dented maybe and sometimes with a poem that has come from my deepest self.
This evening I will leave my mask and crutch,
go to the well, immerse myself
till there is no chill;
till water, moss, sky and I are all one marble.
So when you find me, my love, this smile,
my limbs and fingers will be milk-white;
rosaries will be hanging; petitions,
stuffed between my jaws, fluttering in the wind.
And the reason will hang: a faint quivering
of atoms in the air around you,
an SOS in a register just beyond audibility;
and the mask’s smile: a mouth full of soil.