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In the old days, my thoughts like tiny sparks would flare up in the almost dark of consciousness and I would transcribe them, and page after page shone with a light that I called my own. I would sit at my desk amazed by what had just happened. And even as I watched the lights fade and my thoughts become small, meaningless memorials in the afterglow of so much promise, I was still amazed. And when they disappeared, as they inevitably did, I was ready to begin again, ready to sit in the dark for hours and wait for even a single spark, though I knew it would shed almost no light at all. What I had not realized then, but now know only too well, is that sparks carry within them the wish to be relieved of the burden of brightness.
__________
“A Letter from Tegucigalpa” by Mark Strand, from his collection Almost Invisible.
Tegucigalpa is the capital of Honduras. The picture, on the other hand, was snapped in Ireland.
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Filed under: Poetry Tagged: A Letter from Tegucigalpa, Almost Invisible, Mark Strand, Poem, Poet, poetry, Writing Image may be NSFW.
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