True Ways Of Knowing
Not an ounce excessive, not an inch too little, out easy reciprocations.
You let me know the way a boat would feel, if it could feel, the intimate support of water.
The news you bring me has been news forever, so that I understand what a stone would say if only a stone could speak. Is it sad a grassblade cannot know how it is lovely?
Is it sad that you can't know, except by hearsay (My gossiping failing words) that you are the way a water is that can clench it's palm and crumple a boat's confiding timbers?
But that's excessive and too little. Knowing the way a circle would describe its roundness, we touch two selves and feel, complete and gentle the intimate support.
The way that flight would feel a bird flying (if it could feel)is the way space that's in a stone that's in water would know itself
If it had our way of knowing.
poem by Norman MacCaig
Added by Dan Costinaş
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