The Poet

The poet asked me to support his work on a summer evening. We knew each other only by name but he spoke as a friend.

He is a philosopher and a weaver of ideas. His job is to lift the gossamer curtain that hides the beauty of everyday interactions, of the mundane. A strange alchemy.

And I thought of connections that spread like giant spiders’ webs. Their tenuousness and their tenacity.

Of those who have never met in person but are moved by the same words.

Of the people you never believe you will lose, until one day they are gone.

Of the ones who come back to you.

And the half-light of dusk was luminous, and the wind carried the stillness of a city breaking its fast.

And all was balm for my poor cluttered mind.