This rope of love
I tied in knots
without knowing
how to untie them.
Knot after knot,
I tied a net
for catching
myself, all the while
longing for freedom.
Why do we play
such games—
one hand open
in prayer, begging
for one thing,
the other hand working
as fast as it can
for the opposite.
You know the old
magician’s trick
when he produces
from his pocket
a knotted rope,
mumbles some magic,
and with his words
all the knots fall out.
Ta da! Well, it was not fast like that,
but slowly and quietly
and one by one
with both hands
open and by some
miracle all the knots came
undone and I
am falling, falling
through the threads
I thought would save me,
falling into the stark
between the stars,
falling through
the fragrance of laughter
and the silence
after that.
As the speaker of the poem starts to work out the knots literally, that’s when the poem itself begins to shape some of its most beautiful knots. “…the stark between the stars…” for instance or “the fragrance of laughter” — each image twisted just so. And of course, all that falling into them. Very nice.
Cheers!
add my admiration to the list of those who like, “the stark between the stars.” It evokes, “dark,”which also lies “between the stars.”
i’ve been told that a problem with persistent prayer is our hands remain folded together, leaving nothing to receive with.
i do like the tying of the net to catch oneself, yet untying the same net, in order to (so we think) regain our freedom.
I can empathize for the knotty body. I too, have devoted years to the bolo, half hitch knot that run the full length of where my self ought be.
But I see that it didn’t take away your humor … Always good to hear from you 🙂
Be well