The years teach much that the days never know*

This entry is part 39 of 41 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Autumn 2012


The years teach much that the days never know
You know, the parts that live beyond the margins,
beyond what sage or bearded philosopher could know—
Theory is when you think you know the sound of shoes
on the grass; praxis is the knife-edged blade made known
to unsuspecting flesh. At noon the sun is overhead,
a yellow crayon smudge you know lies somewhere behind
thick tarp of cloud. You know its whereabouts the way
your heart lists toward all it may have ever known
of ardent love or quiet kindness: not one particular
thing, or one blazing example you once knew from long
ago. Not that it makes a difference: the heart’s its most
inscrutable mystery. Joyless, it knows to yearn for joy;
in fullness, knows to sense the turning of the wheel.

* ~ Emerson


In response to small stone (185) and Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← Outlast<em>Thin fog, as in the corners of a tintype</em>— →

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.