I have decided to do something different with this week’s Wordle. Twelve words, one “Wordle-word” per line. If you follow along, you are welcome to make suggestions as to which word should be in the next line. The poem will not be given a title until it is finished. I have no idea what the poem will be about, so it will be as interesting for me as I hope it might be for you. Here is the Wordle:
At Best an Echo*
They were the first things I saw, demanding of me description,
Insisting I explain with words I did not own, nor had I wits to snare.
I waited for the dust to settle around me, bring some clearer vision;
Perhaps I would be blessed by inspiration and reason, supply for demand.
But all remains a curious unbalance between heart and mind and soul
Where once a slap would right the scale, or a thumb pressed on the site,
where my bruised heart turns blue. I face the fulcrum of sorrow and fear.
But what I have seen, is beyond simple expression; it deserves all and more.
For at this very instant, or those past, and those to come, I am lost –
in wonder, love, and praise. So silent in the splendor, no gasps would suffice,
Wings! But such language neither enfolds nor is enfolded by it, beyond
perfection. I wept in mute refusal of the offered ride, rooted myself, remained.
Were you surprised at what I saw? Did you think I could ever really lack for words? Now the end has come for this Wordle Should I try this again in future? I think for now, this is enough. . .
* “Translation is at best an echo.”