HOW DO YOU KNOW?

How do you know when something is gone?
When does an entrance give way to departure?
When does " I love you" become something
inside the decorative frame around a photo
or someone you think you knew once
on a cloudy day in a city cafe?

When does being young shift ever so subtly
into something unexplored
and alien to the image you remember?
When does spring turn and fall into winter?
Where were you when summer brushed
your lips and left a taste of strawberries and flowers?
When does a morning start?
When does night surrender and sleep?

How do you know that the life you endured
has shifted to your waking point?
How do you know that this small point of light
which has entered gently (unexpectedly)
has, in fact, become your compass and home?
How do you know the Truth that moves quietly
and simply asks your silence?

How do you know when nothing more is required
or possible?

Éva Borka

KEEPING THINGS WHOLE

 In a field
I am the absence
Of field.
This is always the case.
Wherever I am
I am what is missing.

When I walk
I part the air
And always
The air moves in
To fill the spaces
Where my body's been.

We all have reasons
for moving
I move
To keep things whole.

Mark Strand