Formed in the Deep

Night,
you haunt me,
hunt me and
spear me. Through
my chattering heart
your lance pierces
my island of dreams.

In the geography of the dark
you try me, you play me
with a joy here,
with a fear there.
Now my passion is
pushed beyond
boundaries.

If only I could steer
these dreams…
what pleasures
might visit the night!
I would eat at a sacred grove;
I would consume a canyon;
would devour mountains; and
take in each valley, feeding
my heart with desire.

But no, this is not to be.
Now is not the time for daydreams.
The hard work of night beckons, calling
me to be its matter, formed in this deep.

8 thoughts on “Formed in the Deep

  1. shoreacres says:

    What an interesting view of night. It’s been a while since I’ve thought of John of the Cross, but the poem brought him to mind: perhaps because in your poem, it’s the night itself that is the actor. It isn’t that the night hides the ghosts and the hunters — it’s that the night itself takes on those roles. It’s thought-provoking.

    • agjorgenson says:

      Thanks for this. I’m often struck by my ambiguous experiences of the night; sometimes it inspires, sometimes it creates anxiety, sometimes it charms; it seems to be the repository of the best and worst and still, we need it so desperately.

  2. Mary Irene says:

    This is deep and deeply beautiful, Allen. Thank you ever so much for sharing

  3. Karina Calcabrina says:

    Speaking as a lucid dreamer since childhood: No worries, Allen. Daydreams have you be. Night lets you do.

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