Child with a Dove
When we walk inside the broken place
Your hair, your eyes, the broken way you smile
The broken door that hurt your hand
Your fingers broken, one memory at a time
When we walk inside the broken place
A ghost of skin and broken strands of hair
Your mouth a broken O
Your dreams bereft of skin
We call your name
It echoes
Our mouth forms O
Our mouth says U
Your hair, your eyes, the broken way you smile
All come into view
“There is an abiding beauty
which may be appreciated by those
who will see things as they are
and who will ask for no reward
except to see.”
Vera Brittain
The heart doesn’t break,
it wakes up to what it always was:
the earth’s wound,
unencumbered by illusion
Formlessness, emptiness, the Self,
awakens to the earth’s wound,
unencumbered by illusion
Experience stripped of language,
experience stripped of identity,
experience stripped of hope,
= the Self experiencing the world
of unarmored sensation
By embodying impermanence,
by integrating hopelessness,
the Self eliminates the need for hope,
eliminates the need for identity
as a flight from impermanence
Hope is a symptom of identity
As identity falls away,
as hope falls away,
as hopelessness falls away,
an empty vessel remains:
A conduit
for experiencing the world,
for seeing the world,
as it is
Robert Margolis 