Worth words? (or what I loved at fifteen)

1 February 2015

I have felt, I have felt a disturbance that
presences with the alleviation of joyed
things, almost fifty summers, fifty winters
and the sister in the earth, myself tucked
into the YHA near Windermere. I take a track
through ancestral country that stiles my steps
through wood, through thoughts infused with
sublimation, a motion that impels the object

of the spirit, the role of things. Was Einstein
rattling Mallarmé’s die?
Imagine the abbey
tinted with the deeds of priests. There is nothing
here you say. And everything you loved. Your
setting words roll down the air, round and
round the smooth stone of your prayer.

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