do you look here, from time to time,
remembering, perhaps, that month of poems?
it was almost another life away
when i still sought for that thing that wasn’t there.
many and many days have passed since then,
through which have come and gone
love, and lovers,
or so it seemed.
sweet or cruel,
faithful or rotted with deceit,
still, it felt like love.
my quest has changed,
for one can seek only so long
to top a mountain against a torrential waterfall
before realizing one is merely fighting the water
and no longer seeking the top of the mountain.
if you wish to know my quest,
(or walk it for a time with me?)
do not seek for me obliquely
through the great faceless intermediary,
a mere picture of a part of me
that you like.
do instead as I have done:
write of me in the way I have written here of you
and use that name for me that once you used
when you wrote of those you loved,
naming them by their spiritual attribute,
that secret code that we both understand.
write of me, and i will see it
in that place of yours
where warms the great world,
and where you have so often
let you heart speak out
against the torrential waters.
Los Angeles, November 19, 2013