BRIDGE OVER RED RIVER

For the time being

flow toward Being

freely choose the path you choose to be;

but remember me, remember

that I have crossed this bridge

      a hundred times and always,

a hundred times, always

returned to the window

and wondered how you choose.

At any time, on any corner

        in any street

the thought of you can rise to

haunt me, shatter my

          intentions, shatter me

scatter me, leave me without force

soften my face, my eyes

leave me trembling like a leaf.

I know you well, I know you

        not at all

bright eyes and laughter

laughter that tinkles from afar

clear, here

        not here, not far

nowhere, yet near, near.

At any hour, on any day

      at work or in a cafe reading

the thought of you can fade,

dissolve, and I emerge

with full intention

shedding emotion, amazed that I

            could feel devotion

could yield a crystal blazing brilliance

to enfolding softness, to a dumb

enclosing closeness with the air and light

with the concrete and cement and trees,

with this still and muted afternoon.

You vanish, you give way,

          so it must be

yet you do not die; this I know…

too many months have passed

            you come and go

appear, re-appear

you are there, here, real

and I cannot smile, say ‘no’, deny you

like the rest —

too many layers of tenderness, too many

too much substance to reject;

          and always, I know

that you are tender with me

responsive and respecting

but elusive, out of reach

forever and never yielding.

So I have crossed this bridge

        a hundred times,

crossed it and re-crossed it;

leaned upon the rail and watched

          the river passing

from remoteness to remoteness

yet here, real;

      the grey I see

reveals and hides it’s mystery

and it’s passion

and even as it flows from me

it flows as mine and ever                                                    

out of reach.

Anthony Duart Maclean

Winnipeg, 1975 

 

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About duartmaclean

Author: THE UNDYING SELF: Vedic Wisdom in the New Millennium For info. or to purchase: email@theundyingself.com
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