When I write, I pull a thread Out of the knotted Ball of yarn that Passes for my mind. Mulling over, I reach out And find the end of some Attractive color, and start To gently tug, to see if I could tick out An errant thought worth Some more consideration, Or recall the moment that Sparked the thought, some Little illumination of Time and space that evoked This or that reflection, a memory, A fleeting feeling, perhaps A joy, perhaps a pain. But now, all too much it is A tangle: I’m unclear, the threads Confused, the moments mixed. I cannot distinguish with any Certainty my hopes, nor my fears, My pains, my griefs.
Very moving, Dennis—and compelling. It conveys the weight you must feel and the brain tangle so effectively. These are such worrisome times…
Sincerely,
Anne Wilder
Dennis...........Brilliant.........I enjoyed reading and rereading every word.
Your communication and your words are fantastic.
thanks Suzanne