More than we ever remember

In this secret room from the past, I seek the future. ~Zardoz

The Room Of Ancillary Dreams

We forget far more than we ever remember.
It is best that way. Waking beside you might
break brittler bones than those I left scattered
on your unhurried pillows. How the light takes
the room through the window, the bird shadowed
there against the veiled curtain; how life rarely
waits for your participation to commence.

So many mornings. Mornings when birds lullabied
dreams to unsleep our rousing. Mornings the terrible
calliope of meadowed incantation set fire to dreaded
drums of our listening. Babies and magpies; chimes
and crows; thrumbling and deluge. The distance always
arrives and the waiting remains of no consequence.
Calendars and clocks were engineered to fail each of us.

In this secret room, I am safe from myself. I may root about
fumbling in a dawning darkness of all I may never know,
but it is well with me. Here I surrender knowledge, give up
what little I might pretend to; call suspect everything I ever
asserted as adamance and certainty. Where the light falls
now is all that matters. How it holds your face; how you
turn within totality; how you emerge from such embrace.

Joseph Gallo
July 17, 2012