Songs for the end of rhapsody
The thoughts that thrill the mind are of their time
and don’t transcend the hour from which they sprang.
We dream of fixing moments, holding smoke
that streams between the fingers as we clutch:
the harder is our grip, the less we grasp,
the more we squeeze it out and end the space.
I think my thoughts stand tall, expand, transmit,
are in a thousand listening ears at once,
that beauty which is shared could range beyond
and spread its happy humours outward, onward,
yet buoyed by copious vanity: how it’s mocked
when future ears are deaf and eyes are blind
to all the witnesses of closed experience!… Continued “Meditations on Lost Psyche — Robert Nelson”