JENN MOREA : whispered
blue sky come back let me hear the one I was born to hear let me be
loved donít let the closed eye that watches look away seen and unseen all is
visible now let me lonely not long the living let me deep into timelessness
o how my stories from other mouths come
Nearest distance, in here with me please come. Long the room has walked
in circles around me. And Iíve walked there, too, wanting by your voice to
be held. I learned listen from absence of body the way once body was the
only voice. Tell again how everything reaches and reaches until everything
reaches its something.
Lines of desire. Night-blur. Colorless bird bringing back a starís
Near, Which Was Never
I was near where once you were.
If I know this, then I do not remember I know this. You tell me and I
believe what you say.
I believe what you say like it is written in me and you are reading it.
When the wordless world first turned to me, I could still say please and no
and more. Now I say nothing, but, I believe you.
I was near, which was never close, where once you were, meaning, I missed
you. You were there and then you left and when you left you left something
there. You tell me I found it, could see it from far away and in the dark,
too, when later I came. You say you know this because, though I do not
remember, when I was not there, I told you.
You tell me the thing you left was an arc that cannot be embraced. I
remember embracing it. It made me want to stay. I remember when I left, I
left the place near you and I left you.
I remember this like something that happens in the dark that is not supposed
to be remembered in the light, or that cannot be. You tell me I told you
this one night. I do not remember.
Never you are here and never I am there, though once I was near where once
you were. Being near was like being there.
Where goodbyes are being said I cannot go. You go and she goes and he
goes. I send with him what I cannot bring.
I dream I am there, dream I meet you again for the first time.
Time stops here and continues there. I watch the thin rectangle of light
around the door. I wait for time to begin.
In the Beginning
What was said was whispered. In an unknown room no one belonged to.
The ear of night gazed. Our day-bird flew again underground. Light
flickered in the sky, on the hill, but was unbroken between us. We learned
to let be given, whispered things hidden and listened without rest.
Unwritten letters continued their unwriting.
I have been trying to tell you. On the way to
the place, I tried to tell you and on the way from the place, I tried to
tell you. I tried to tell you when we first got there and I tried to tell
you when it was almost time to leave. I tried to tell you in the dark-the
light. Once, I came close to telling you, but someone interrupted.
When you arenít around, I practice saying it. I repeat it out loud, and
think of where we might be, and what your face might look like hearing it.
All day at work, I say it in my head. I fall asleep saying it and when I
wake up I think, today I will say it to you.
When I first see you, I think Iím going to say it, but by that time it no
longer seems like Iím going to.
Then it is too late to tell you. Then I say it to passing clouds, to
strangers with sad faces. In every place I tried but didnít tell you, I say
it. And every time, it is like not saying it. Then I donít say it and it is
A Form of Goodnight
Beautiful name reaching through a dream, in unexpected last places, you
sign gentle, float deep,
inscribe the breath-part.