F O U R
Repetitions of repeated things,
Professor Martel’s days
cut a clear route to thought,
an efficient routine to thinking.
Thinking, not only, but also
the expression of those thoughts.
A written voice found phrase
and clear construction accessible.
With each pencil stroke,
as with a swimmer gaining energy
with each swimming stroke,
Professor Martel checked the sea of thoughts
ahead of him
and checked-off destinations easily ranged
setting instead as his destination
a distant breaker
by an equally distant horizon of fog –
thought-fog, rather, the unknown
and uncodified known around
some pattern, some essence,
some repeating thing, some description
waiting for words to describe it.
Thoughtful and considered words.
And like a swimmer
Professor Martel felt himself immersed
in the thought-stuff around him,
supported by and skimming through
the stuff, breath as practiced
as the motions that kept him moving.
And Professor Martel knew, too,
that the thought-stuff around him
offered an open embrace
as warm – or as cold – as water
offered. A comforting embrace.
An embrace motionless, still.
An expressive and loving embrace.
But an end to movement.
To repeated things.
To “accumulated expressiveness.”
An expressive and loving embrace,
expressive and loving
something, somehow, somewhere.
Embracing something, somehow, somewhere.
Thinking, writing, eating,
going to the bathroom, sleeping – I
some distractions, too, just to keep them in hand.
Sensual moments. Allowed, welcomed,
they kiss and go. Refused,
they intrude and brood, long, center-state.
Time then became every breath
and every breath drew out breathing
into vast time-cycles
like memories of youth or fears of age.
like a glass of cold soda: Grip-able. Drinkable.
a thoughtful thing, expressible, too: A pleasure.