Cork I, 2/3/99, embracing speed


    Speed is the slowness of recognition, the depth of self, the extent of longing
    Of belonging, of returning home
    Not knowing where home is
    In the expanse of being
    Sending, transmitting, urging, pushing, pulling

    Now talk is another thing
    In which speed lay hidden
    Coiled to strike
    And carry away in a towering verbal Tsunami
    Forgetting, forgetting speed, forgetting the slowness, depth, extent, belonging, returning, knowing
    Magnetized toward the other
    That often misses
    But sometimes hits
    Smack dab in the eye and heart
    Where you're to be trusted.

    Not some dawdling, dangling 350-year-old veil of power
    Woven by fading generals and diplomats who tired of struggle
    And turning to immortality in texts, stone and grandiloquent mausoleums.
    It is the sigh of home, the speed that caresses.