hey, psyche

I learned there’s nothing more shaming
or as memorable as an intimacy
unreturned. And turned, therefore,
to the expected silence of a page,
where I might simultaneously assert
and hide, be my own disappointment,
which saved me for a while.
But soon the page whispered
I’d mistaken its vastness for a refuge,
its whiteness for a hospital
for the pathetic. Fill me up, it said,
give me sorrow because I must have joy,

all the travails of love because
distances are where the safe reside.
Bring to me, it said, continual proof
you’ve been alive.

from "Turning to the Page," by Stephen Dunn

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Sep. 9, 2012 at 1:34am with 1 note

Bob ThompsonBacchusAriadne

Bob Thompson, Triumph of Bacchus, 1964. 

Bacchus was a god, after all, so in the end it turns out Ariadne was lucky Theseus had left her.

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