A Certain Swirl
The classroom was dark, all the desks were empty,
and the sentence on the board was frightened to
find itself alone. The sentence wanted someone to
read it, the sentence thought it was a fine sentence, a
noble, thorough sentence, perhaps a sentence of
some importance, made of chalk dust, yes, but a sen-
tence that contained within itself a certain swirl not
unlike the nebulous heart of the unknown universe,
but if no one read it, how could it be sure? Perhaps it
was a dull sentence and that was why everyone had
left the room and turned out the lights. Night came,
and the moon with it. The sentence sat on the board
and shone. It was beautiful to look at, but no one
- from Verse Daily
A poem about desire. Again, if Nietzsche is correct, the wanting is much more powerful than the receiving. But ... the desire is nonetheless present, active, irrefutable.
We write ... to say something? Surely. We write ... to be heard? – I’m not so convinced of that reasoning as ideal. We do write for understanding – even it purely for the self.
The closing to Ruefle’s poem connects with me. What is written on the board is not important. The fact that the room is empty, the moon is shining, yet the sentence remains, solitary and unread, is everything.