Friday, May 16, 2014

155. Lingua Ignota

Wings flutter;
flyers in the
door-made
breeze:

lurid,
almost
desperate pleas
for
attention:
shadows remain of
careful, tack-
rent fingers

One, absorbed in
his
book,
does not
see
and yet –

unseeing
of the words
at hand:
eyes covertly
search
the gathering crowd

My then-self:
as exposed
as a half-tacked
flyer upon the
wall,

for a glimpse,
a single
glimpse
of my
beloved

who, despite
my careful
planning,
could not
alter what was
to be:

One poster
upon
another,
plaster on
plaster and
paper on
paper:

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One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson