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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Things As They Are

I don’t want to pick things apart.
Give me everything whole.
Give me a smile for what it’s worth,
pure honey in my heart.
I don’t need a motive,
a prism to separate its colors.
I want only its sweetness,
its lovely, unfiltered devotion.
Let things remain within their jars,
their boxes,
their flashes of lightning.

A letter telling me of a friend’s travel, the
price of vegetables,
of rooms,
the length of streets,
the faces of people
looking constantly on their mountains.
If it’s a card let it ring true.
I do not need his confessions,
how the landscape falls apart,
how thirsty the dry air makes him.
I want only to hear how his heart opened
as wide as a lily,
received the rain,
how good his rest is,
sleeping in a new bed.

I don’t need to know where things come from,
or how they once appeared,
or why they exist.
My garden planted itself for all I care,
and day hangs with its ribbons,
its sounds like a festival,
a walk in the sun,
a fresh apple.
It comes by itself,
with clothes and music,
and fresh mint,
and poems,
scattered in notes about the floor.

Why it’s here,
why I’m so devoted,
why night refused to stay,
is no concern to me.
I don’t need to know.
I don’t want to know.
I only want to have my coffee,
see a woman,
my woman smile,
let light shine through me,
and be what I am,
a wind chime,
striking the air without a sound.

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