Past

 

We have to hold the past

With its programs

& upturned languages,

Its labels faded

Like a shuttered room—

Hold it and hold it

As if it was land,

Raw land

Uncombed

& where we might return.

 

Meantime

The least of things

Tells us

To look outwards:

The gentling moon is there.

Stars are high and upright.

We know

Our solitudes,

Hope for their meanings…

Think of their music…

 

The past is the running sky.

It is the shore.

The ocean writes pale figures.

The kingdom is upon us

Even as we walk—

Unassuming,

Summoned by waves,

The past writes the book

Of who we were,

Being always somewhere else…

 

 

–Stephen Kuusisto