There is a folding into the self which occurs
when the lights are small on the horizon
and no light is shining into the face.
It happens in a quiet place.
It is a quiet unfolding,
like going to sleep in
the comfortable family home.
When everyone else goes to sleep
the house folds up
The windows shut their eyes.
If you are inside you are automatically folded.
If you are outside walking by the folded house
you feel so lonesome you think you are going crazy.
You are not going crazy.
You are beginning to fold up in your own single way.
You feel your edges move toward center,
your heart like a folded blanket unfolding
and folding in with everything contained.
You feel like you do not need anyone to love you anymore
because you already feel everything.
you feel it, you fold it, and for awhile now,
it will quietly rest.
Words for the Year 
what is going on with these poems?
good god….
i love her work, I don’t think I’ve read this poem, or it least it hadn’t made a deep impression, until today.
thank you, i think 😉
xo
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Just in one of those moods I guess? Too dark lately? Or have they been spot on? Autumn always finds me more contemplative and aware of mortality, impermanence… “Poetry is not always a thing of beauty…”
I love her work too. Funny how we can read a piece with new eyes and its whole meaning changes, as do we.
Xoxoxo 🙂
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very aware of mortality, impermanence…dark moods, shifting visions…the old push /pull of life being very life-y.
and yes, the beauty of poetry over time, it shifts as we do.
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