Going To You

              Going To You

 

I couldn’t sleep. What could I do?

I went to you.

I go as often as I can,

As often as élan emerges:

Like a spy whose operation purges,

Does not tell (well,

those detected and elected).

I ought to come to you more often.

True to form you’re there to soften

In one way or t’other – like a mother.

 

Is it just interpretation, fancy, brain synaptic,

Watching happenings?

Often ending as I would wish they should,

Seeing failings patched, detached,

Improving slowly once they’re hatched?

 

If I had been born to preach,

Joined synagogue or church,

Become rabbi, Mormon, Witness, priest,

Going north, south, west and east

At least I’d feel I landed.

 

But I’m silent and agog,

A secret seeker through the fog of worldly turbulence

And tastes that tempt, participating in the dance

With casualness, no casualty, but taking in causality as One,

It being April one, a day of fun at fooling friends –

Supercool, I face and grace it with my presence.

 

Going To You 4.1.2017

God Book II; Circling Round Reality; Pure Nakedness;

Arlene Corwin

 

 

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