You believe no secrets
can be kept about the ancient
mystery: how all living bodies
came forth from a supreme imagination—
from stones, to water,
to a single,
shimmering
dream
—all here, among us, even
in the unlikely moment
when you felt the need
to stop before a tree,
and were unable
to rid yourself
of the idea
that dissolved
his freedom.
Now, solidly rooted, he refuses
to utter your accolades; but
long after you've forgotten
his silence, his blessing
upon you will be renewed.
You did not imprison him
—he succombed to life,
and then withdrew,
to tend to
your departure.
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six
(Inspired by a passage from Swann's Way, by Marcel Proust, whose prose is the purest of poetry.)
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