Do Not Tell Me That in Another Life You Will Leave Notes for Me Everywhere So That Next Time We Can Find Each Other
Bare feet on a wooden floor.
A silent hall.
Half open studio door.
A pale wall.
As if from behind a screen,
Ambiguous light.
All I have never been
Troubles the night.
In the shadow-room, the plan
Of a life I did not lead
Unfolds. Where birth began
One story, death may read
Another. If that is so,
How will I find you? see
To the heart of the story? know
Who you are, who I am, what may be?
Perhaps in a room at the end of a hall
I will idly open a book one night
To a poem. Reading, I will nearly recall
Someone. You. The rest is hidden in light.
--Phyllis Hoge Thompson
Bare feet on a wooden floor.
A silent hall.
Half open studio door.
A pale wall.
As if from behind a screen,
Ambiguous light.
All I have never been
Troubles the night.
In the shadow-room, the plan
Of a life I did not lead
Unfolds. Where birth began
One story, death may read
Another. If that is so,
How will I find you? see
To the heart of the story? know
Who you are, who I am, what may be?
Perhaps in a room at the end of a hall
I will idly open a book one night
To a poem. Reading, I will nearly recall
Someone. You. The rest is hidden in light.
--Phyllis Hoge Thompson