Bowed

Forever
You will refuse to be put into words —
Of sages, poets, and philosophers
Of prophets and of scriptures

Forever
I am compelled — like countless before me —
To speak of you
To speak of myself
To point at you

And I find myself
With no fingers
No eyes
No direction —

And even the compulsion
To speak of you
To point at you —
Is drawn out of me

And I am left, right here —
Wordless
And bowed

And then
In the next breath
I paint another picture of you
Another image appears —
Another metaphor, another word
Pointing towards you

Writing it, speaking it —
I contradict it
It is demolished
Rendered useless —

In capturing the only-ness
The alone-ness
The emptiness
The no-thing-ness
Of you
Of me

What’s there for me to do
What’s there for you to do
What’s there for me to be —
And for you to say —

But this