Transfixed

- Love comes in so many flavors, so many textures. Some times it is light and airy, others it is heavy and dense. It can be radiantly glowing, or a dull ember. It can be about desires, completeness, polarity, sameness, passion, familiarity, some concept of destiny or rightness, or a million other things. After any of my relationships broke up, as with most people, I felt pain in almost all cases. But now, I can also look back with gratitude and thanks that whatever "we" were, existed for a while. The next few poems are from a love that I tried so hard for so long to make happen, but it just never became the thing I most wanted. So many thoughts about that time, about some concept of "fair" and "destiny" that we get wrapped up in. This is from late 1992 or early 1993.

                     Transfixed

I sit here transfixed,
staring blankly before me,
hoping that words will flow eloquently from me— onto the paper,
intact with all of the emotions still bound to them,
that you might see a piece of my soul through the lens of my words.

For with it you could see me from the inside,
you could feel my shades of wonder,
and reminisce amongst the sweet memories that you have made in me.
My deepest workings would be laid out bare before you,
and my most subtle nuance, made clear.

I would not need to fear misunderstanding,
for you could see through the these vapors of ink scrawled on paper,
past the bizarre contraption of letter, word and definition,
through the structure of sentence, or paragraph,
and understand the essence of my meaning.

If only the worlds problems were as odd and wonderful as ours,
that a misunderstanding leads to a deeper understanding,
that an act to move away, in other ways brings us closer together,
that a miscommunication could bring about comprehension,
and that from confrontation, grows even deeper love.

Writing quickly, so as not to disturb the moments insight,
I try to record the words before they fade from the perfection of the instant.
Each word falls silently from my mind into my hands and out,
yet their wandering leaves traces on me,
as well as the paper before me- to hold them, for you.

In this odd desire that you could connect through words to my spirit,
I realize there is so much that I wish to show you,
so many things I would share with you. . .
These feelings fighting to arise to the top- shouting above their brethren,
in hopes to be expressed in the few moments of poetic grace that may come. .

In awesome wholeness you are before me,
your smile traces across your lips as you speak,
and I feel the soft warmth of your breath against my cheek,
"And other times," you say with a serious voice, "I just don't know what to do"...
And you wonder why I smile.

Moments spent in concentration,
trying to solve some new riddle which you have presented me with,
whether to match a swatch of fabric with a ribbon,
or comprehend some sad injustice which has happened,
always a pleasure to answer, if only because you asked of me.

The passions that you stir in me, I didn't even know I had. . .
That you can take my breath from across the room,
make me smile from miles away, or make me tremble with desire from your touch,
to hold you, to touch you, to feel your body wrapped around me.

You move beside me, holding my hand as we walk.
Careful that no one notices our brief indiscretion,
we exit the party by the back door, and run through the field,
to land in each others arms and collapse onto the earth.
In a flash of understanding, We are one.

The pain lingers long, from a future sadness,
but its weight is carried by two and thus,
although not lessened, is somehow made more bearable.
A constant companion with which to help heal the wounds,
which life inflicts upon us all.

What pride I would feel if I could make you understand.
The dreams are only a skeleton of what you and I could become,
the feelings are only shadows of the truth that would be,
the words, though carefully chosen, show only what I can know,
and do not begin to gift us with what will be.

And as it came, the moment of eloquence passes.
These precious words start to cloud into trite phrases,
better not written on the same page.
Yet for an instant, perhaps the feelings the words carried moved you,
to see the depths of all that you are to me.

Only a single worthy phrase remains in my mind,
something by which to exit gracefully.
Though often over spoken, misused and ever so misunderstood,
yet still no better words to say, or to even try,
but to remind you of the thousand ways that I love you.

(C) 2011 Dave Cox