With what eyes?
Who knows what’s on the other side? Here’s a poem that wonders about that, searching for clues to the undiscovered country.
With what eyes shall I see
the place that can’t be seen
across the harbor
unlit, uncharted?
Will the air be sweet?
How could I tell?
Without eyes can there be
any means of understanding
what might come across?
The way is long
past the horizon
where everything changes.
But in dreams we see
what hasn’t been
what could not be
what can’t come back,
after mind subsides
in the dark hollow.
And in scenes of memory
remains of the real still breathe.
We recall music we can’t hear,
lines we can’t read,
unfolding, arising
like new stars.
