Whenever They All Were Writing -- Halifax Road

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Subject: Whenever They All Were Writing

Author:
10-22-99

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Date Posted: 23:58:18 12/04/99 Sat

They were rarely assembled,
a circle of childlike souls

caught in the harshness of winter.
With thoughts like bare pain,

like tears in open eyes, they hoped
to confess would bring a turning.

From fragments, patchwork,
they each put forward their hands,

sheltered their eyes
and stitched their written words.

Soon there was a great coverlet
of white light, a filter for winter sky

where they could enfold themselves
like the warmest woven blanket.

Concealed, all pretended to be children
able to speak in other voices, see

with other eyes, gesticulate
with uncompromising ardor.

Little by little, a word at a time,
they believed they were newly born.

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