Somewhere along the line,
I learned to separate
recollection from reflection;
memories from lessons learned.
Once the needle was stuck in the groove
like an old vinyl LP,
scritching and scratching static
clear through to my core.
I could neither bump it forward,
nor hearken back to reconstruct
How the shift began,
where it seated itself at that long banquet table
measuring the breadth of life,
I do not know.
I am only grateful that it did.
All my life has been like that:
subtle shiftings and backdoor gatherings;
avoiding the grand entrance whenever possible.
Transforming and slowly polishing
stone to gem, porous black rock to brilliant diamond;
myriad surfaces picking up hues and subtleties,
refracting back to their source.
Precious gifts are useless when pillaged or ignored;
instead they are banked and trussed,
forming the framework of kindness
radiating silently from the cavern of the heart.