A Postscript

I speak my heart,
I sing my song -
a thousand names
for pain and joy;
a desperate clinging
to moments
of not knowing
that flow and melt
like lemon drops
in the mouth of a child,
with no beginning or end;
and yet I scurry
like a fearful rabbit
looking to capture that hole
through which
all things pass -
known and unknown;
the hole
I think and believe
is me.