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An Almost Peripheral
Vision.
It would be somehow fulfilling
to write a poem
about 'events',
that we sense perhaps
in our heart of hearts,
but cannot ever see.
They whisk and flirt
on the edge of vision
or slide on the emotional camber
of a lonely slipway,
they manifest themselves in small beads of sweat,
an unfamiliar smell, or
a sound, perhaps something like a click,
coming from the corner of the room.
Fulfilling? - yes,
making a mystery visible and public,
for then we might huddle together for warmth,
in our shared recognition
of the unobtrusive,
in our shared and lonely passion
for the unseen.
h0me