The belief.
When I was younger
I had the belief
that there would be
one who I will love
and one who
I know loves me—
almost that love
is a fixed place.
And yes, there can be walks in
the April woods that
feel full of infinity—every leaf a universe
and the thawing stream a bounty.
The unspoken amazement at
a crush of trout lilies,
pushing their way up through
last year’s leaves.
The imagining of this path
as seen from above—
two people on their way through
the woods, as if it’s the cosmos.
With atoms visible and all
ideas entertained—the sheerness
of it all—so immediate
and available.
But this love between you two
is not a place. It floats
just above as you pass by
the maidenhair fern.
Growing, living, and dying,
in spite of
the belief.
View up close in the gallery.
The fresh blue meandering shape of this painting with its complications of winding lines and dashes made it a good match for the walk that this poem takes. I wrote it last spring thinking of the literal feeling of taking my favorite forest walk—but the writing of the poem brought out a deeper, more metaphysical and personal meaning. I saw that curved perimeter of the painting and knew that poem would complete it.
Looking at it today, it reminds me of the photographer Duane Michals’ photograph called ‘This Photograph is My Proof’, which shows a couple sitting on the edge of a bed, a man in a suit, smiling, the woman giving him a warm embrace with her head resting on his back, also looking at the camera smiling. The title and words that follow it are handwritten: “There was that afternoon, when things were still good between us, and she embraced me, and we were so happy. It did happen, she did love me. Look see for yourself!”
The image and words work together perfectly to reveal the ambiguity and mystery of memory, love, and life itself. How is our experience of the world—of the people in our lives—defined? Is it only our perception? Can an image be ‘proof’? It is frozen in time, and does that truth last beyond that moment? Aren’t images and words and the combination of them constructions that exist somewhere on their own, outside of time?
To me, this is the work of words and images—constantly asking questions about what it means to be human, what it means to love others, and the world itself.