I shall need a new language.
These words I have used
for so long
are no match for this task.
They are blunt and heavy things
that will not take flight
to pierce her heart.
I need a language, suffused
with some elemental power,
to lend the directness of the arrow
to my purpose.
But earth will not do.
The nurturing clay tethers
all to the ground.
And air itself?
No, not air!
In the vast and endless
the great imperative
will be lost.
Water, then?
No, water flatters with a caress,
being only concerned
with the things of the surface.
It will not pierce her heart.
And the spark
that lights the fire
too often devours
the very thing
it sought to create.
No, the elements have been
no help to my purpose.
They cannot
pierce her heart.
The only hope, then,
is the light.
I shall live in the light
and make my stand
and pray that she is drawn
toward my orbit.
Light does not pierce.
It has no need.
It prefers, instead,
to peel away layers of illusion
that hide the truth
from the sincerest eye.
I shall not flinch
in all the shining.
I shall not flinch
under her gaze
for the light
will make all transparent
and vouch for me.
And, being washed clean,
I can only wish
that the gifts I hold
in my heart for her
will appear in bold relief.
I can only pray
for her delight,
that smile again,
her quickening heart
and an outstretched hand
to lead me home.
John R. Nicoll.
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