Then he came to you, you knew
Then you went to him, you saw
Now he is gone, do you know who I am?
Now you are here, can you see who I am?

You think love comes, love goes
I tell you, when love comes, I am, when love goes, I am
You think nowhere, somewhere
I tell you, nowhere is where I am, somewhere is where I am.

Then it was light, you knew
Then there was love, you saw
Now in the dark, do you know who I am?
Now you are lost, can you see who I am?

You think, out of darkness into light
I tell you, I am in the darkness, I am light
You think, out of pain into joy
I tell you, I am in the pain, I am joy.

--

--

Soon it will be a thousand days
since you died.

My heart stirs now and then:
this is what to do next,
this is who needs you next.

I go to people who are sick,
to the one struggling, or stuck.

Someone needs me: I can help,
I perk up, I get to work.

In my usual way I give —
all of who I am

but, fire is gone. Nothing
sears my mind, my heart;
body and soul are not ablaze.

Stirring fades. I am only
embers now.

--

--

To the mountain that is stalking me, that mountain of odds,
I say: get in front of me; don’t sneak around! I start climbing it,
though I cannot walk. Because I cannot walk, I grip it
with all my might though I can hardly use my hands.
One day I am turning a corner, or negotiating
a steep section, or just resting for a moment
— oh! it’s a view I have never seen before.
I could not see it before I decided to climb,
and climbing the mountain, I get back some
of what I lost, and climbing the mountain gives me
something to do every day, and something to do every day
to be better saves me, and so to the mountain of odds
I also say: though you are massive, I thank you,
for there is no end now to the work.

--

--

Marianne Vincent

Marianne Vincent

It seems like a lifetime ago. Someone who’d just met me said, “Your dharma is to be a writer.” I laughed it off. Now here I am, not wanting to do much else.