Thursday, November 14, 2013

a gift that calls me

to see a person. . .

I do not know. . .
I cannot understand. . .

I can ride a power
over which I have only a touch of control,
and somehow, 
through a gift of vision that can sometimes scare me,
mists can clear
and I can see a person, close to the truth of self,
and I can sometimes find words 
that roughly build toward what I see,

I seem to get a person best
when persona and self are in harmony,
and that beautiful person behind the eyes
allows himself, herself to be seen.

by Henry H. Walker
November 11, ’13

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