Counterpoint



there is a sadness
standing before light
clouds know it
stepping out
into the air—

great storms
born of upper
unseen winds
know it
banished
to the edge of light
but for all its
wonder
Perfection—
stone-like—
is still—
an uncored flute
inert
through which
the disturbing
winds of heaven
cannot blow

there is a gap
nothing can fill
born of what
can never be

there is a yearning
stepping out into mystery
lovers know it—
calling one to the other
the Unknowable
answers back
breaking
their hearts
with unthinkable
melodies.


asha