To paraphrase Stephen Scobie from The Rooms We Are
The rocks are not the sea
The waves are not the land
This is dialogue
of a crossing by water in winter to a shore
other than that the bridge reaches for.
And Scobie again “another” from The Rooms We Are
All that is long past. Blank pages
filled with the finest lines will not recover
what we gained in our loss.
I like how in O’Hara the words inspired by a painting carry us beyond considerations of pigments and pictures to poetry itself seeking the unbridgeable and it is with Scobie that we find that writing will not suffice. Not suffice for the paradox of living while at every moment slowly dying. Inarticulate. Impossible crossing.
Forever in dialogue.
And so for day 1222