I WANT TO KNOW

your private moments
filled with nothing;
those times
when you are not thinking
at all,
when a hush hugs your brain,
when those mad wires
of misinformation are stilled
by natural rhythms;
when all we were
and all we are
and all we might be
calmly play
without importance
like a Beatle's lyric
out of Rubber Soul,
perhaps...
You might be moved
to treat yourself kindly,
to hold hands
with yourself
without begging
or bargaining.
You might arrive
on a hot chocolate morning
carrying yesterday's news
like marshmellows to dunk
and nibble on:
a colony of ants looking
for a new home,
Hannibal crossing 14th Street,
a tulip descending
upon a suitor's lips,
a tremble in the cleft
of a mountain;
maybe you've turned
the electronic hum
into a sleeping beast
or decided your first lover
was your best lover.
But nothing
is held
for very long
or seen for simply
being part of the tale.
We are simple stories
being told
to ourselves.
Each day
a different begining
and a different end.
With any luck,
if luck is anything at all,
we will find out
what we are
tomorrow.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2018