Even if you are always at a loss
when you try to define it,
you know it well, it’s so yours.
Its constancy like gravity.
Because you know you’ll have
to face the test,
the honed marble, the axe
of the sentence.
Because you can’t pretend
not to sense
the ultimate, unavoidable,
blade’s sharpness.
Well, yes, you can find
some comfort just before,
some sympathy,
an embrace.
Maybe the same
buzzing of voices
that has accompanied you
throughout.
Just before.
And in the meantime, in the wait,
you cast a thought’s feather
there, where you can’t see yet,
after it’s all over:
sky at last and a shot
of scattering swallows,
unconstrained space and breath,
at one with belief.
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