(Inspired by the first five paragraphs of Sven Birkerts’ essay on Emerson’s “The Poet” – A Circling, Poetry, April 2012)

 

This, then, is why

and how, and all the other

important questions

rolled into one.

There is no burning

question worth it all,

after all,

if soul is not mentioned,

understood as primal

and holy,

outside of any sect

or belief.

Soul –  quiet being,

deep inside 

that is more 

than we can ever

hope to be,

that is the purest form

of us – without doubts

or misguided fetters

into deep waters

that grow dank and murky.

Soul – strong and sure,

more comfortable 

than we are

in our own skin.

Completely self-assured,

deeply knowing

its inherent talents

without ever playing shy

or self-effacing,

dwindled down to nothing

through every fault of its own.

Soul – knows – soul is

everything we hope for and more.

Soul fears nothing

but our never

venturing toward it – never

touching the earthen door

that waits to open to us.