Doreen Gildroy - Uncreated Light

Yours was the death, yours was the dying.

I found you in
the pauper’s field

and something sang through me
(if there
ever was a song)—
which I could
speak to myself, very quietly,
and move along.

Oh in my heart,
do you not think I am a part of this?

Bless the failure, bless the flame,
bless my fruitless attempt,
the shame.

And what do I do with this love,
that sticks like pitch to my heart—and will never
let me go.

Why I am standing in your image.
Do not try to change it—
to turn it into something
joyous and free—
you are here—you are gone—
dead—
uncreated light.


thanks to American Poetry Review