Villanelle

Comfort the past with thoughts you do not know
the mournful tenor of uncertainty,
and shelter in the joy of saying so.

The voice evokes a pain it dare not show.
The mind contains a jewel it cannot see.
Comfort the past with thoughts you do not know.

Pain is the task of choosing where to go
before we fabricate a makeshift key
and shelter in the joy of saying so.

We sail adrift in cabined dark: although
a stranger’s knowledge is his ecstasy,
comfort the past with thoughts you do not know.

To decorate the niche in which we grow
we gather flowers of newfound mystery
and shelter in the joy of saying so.

When heart a pauper tells you to go slow
the spirit cries till nightfall to be free.
Comfort the past with thoughts you do not know
and shelter in the joy of saying so.

Around that time I met several close relations for the first time. Among them were two or three women whose stories differently “spoke” to me: the poem was a response of sorts. I was also interested in the technical challenge of the villanelle, a form I have used a number of times since then.