“What keyhole have we slipped through, what door has shut? 

The shadows of the grasses inched round like hands of a clock,

And from our opposite continents we wave and call. 

Everything has happened.” 
-Sylvia Plath

  To my friend

I wish I could contain those moments

As in a crystal ball where everything is romantically petrified

I wish they would replay again and again and then again some more

Just to make sure that I’ve tasted enough of those transparent embraces

Enough to feel them again upon closing my eyes

And feel it again and again within the spectral sceneries of night

Those moments where the simplicity requires no comprehension

Where everything becomes clear without being necessarily logical

You know those feelings… everyone must have them

Where you smile without realizing, with no conscious effort

As if it was the makings of some external pull

That dented your face with noble expressions of childlike innocence

And you do not realize it… until you do

Oh how I wish I could capture those moments

Yet not the way a picture captures the shell of experience

But to capture it from within, as if by extraction

Then put it away in some memory box

Although I wonder… would it still be sacred

If I did not look back at them with invincible yearning?

And it is so simple

A fondness so grand, so immaculate

That could only be reached with no conscious intent

As perplexing and amusing as mysterious magic

As tragic as the feeling of transience

Those conversations of unequivocal understanding that sometimes require no diction to be felt

It is the secret language of sympathetic connection between people like us

What realm have we entered, you and I

That I have become accustomed to your ways?

Our paths have traversed different pastures

Only to find no fracture or dissimilation

On metaphysical terrain, we are just the same

What force of nature must have induced this inconspicuous unity

That out of the vastness of beings we have come to find affection for our faults

And in our wildest disarrays we find solace in confusion

In ways no other could provide

You know those feelings… everyone must have them

Of unexplainable gratitude

When too much feeling is impossible to contain

Reducing it to words becomes sacrilegious

I wish I could preserve those moments side by side

Where the gap between minimal space seems to absorb the symphony of laughter

And the energy of thought conflate our singular to mutual 

I know that other pastures may replace the ones I am accustomed to

And no one really knows if the soil is healthier… the grass greener

Our paths will morph into stranded fragments

And I do not hold the cure for the inevitable

But then I wonder… Would these moments be so sacred if they were not so inexplicable?

Would I still long for them if they were not meant to disperse?

As in a crystal ball where everything is romantically petrified…