A conversation; or, dialectic
They walk down the passage,
enter the room,
as if called to some formal gathering
of honour to be bestowed;
humility and dignity together
make them beautiful; watchers
see this, feel this too.
Seated, they glance into each other’s eyes;
they barely know each other, yet
glance with the level, cool respect
of equality; and of precise love:
a love of what they treasure in themself
offered to another who is not other.
And they begin to talk about some mighty topic:
listen intently to the other; then
at the finish of each offering,
a pause as if the angels listen:
you can hear humility, dignity
in that sacred pause; and then
the other offers speech;
their eyes shine; the honour of this event
warms their blood almost to tears of truth.
The air around them turns to ether;
as if their very talk has purified the space;
the space where, as they talk,
it seems as though there’s one who listens..
They are explorers in an unknown land,
a new world where they listen to
their own speech as a new thing explained,
yet spoken as if always known;
nor is the air around them, private:
they could be that couple over there
in the tea-shop’s gentle buzz,
so elevated, that at other tables,
teacup poised, politely covert glance
brings all the teashop’s visitors
into that place where love and knowledge meet.
The conversation reaches its appointed end,
which both recognise; some sublime honour
has been bestowed; and from within themselves;
rapt and yet surrendering,
they walk away through crowded streets, the air
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poem by Michael Shepherd
Added by Poetry Lover
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