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Transit Zone by Martin Burke      < back : index : next >   

Blank Page

Blank page —why are you so inviting?
Verb, why do you call me to you?

That year the water hens’ glide astounded me
the wind in the leaves was a music to follow
though the water was dense and impenetrable.
Even so, even so:
to attempt the courtship
to answer the invitation
to be ready to respond when called upon,
a mood, a moment, I willingly surrender to
as if my life at that moment
was composed solely of the word 'desire'
(that moment and every moment since)
as on one blank page after another
I practice a spidery calligraphy which soon becomes
an art of faith in an otherwise turbulent world.

Where is the end of it?
There is none. Their can never be.
The verb meets the page
and all begins again, again, again.

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