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From the album cover …
There
are divine moments when we completely resonate with the world around us—when
we feel connected to the land, to people. Perhaps we’re sitting quietly beside
a river, getting lost (and found) in the white laughter of thin waves. Perhaps
we’re falling asleep to the steady rise and fall of our partner’s breath.
For me, moments such as these define love. Words talk around these moments, but
even the best metaphor can never really get to love’s essence. To be
understood, love must be felt.
As
a poet, the inherent inadequacy of words to describe love can be frustrating.
But what pleasure in the attempt! Poetry asks us to be as aware and sensitive as
possible—an invitation to vulnerability. However, when we open ourselves to
the world around us, its mysteries and savagery, we begin to see how the natural
world mirrors our inner nature. Then the moments of connection occur more
frequently.
An
example: One day I saw a boulder beside the road with a wild rose bush growing
out of it—blooming, no less—despite the lack of fertile soil. It reminded me
of a grieving man I’d met who was very afraid of being hurt again. He hardened
himself to the point that everything he said sounded ugly. In the poem “Rising
from Rock,” the wild rose is a metaphor for the ability to create beauty and
be loving in spite of difficult conditions.
Another
example: “Lunaria.” One evening my husband and I strolled to the east end of
the Telluride valley. As we walked, the moon rose over Ajax Peak. The fact that
the moon rose is no surprise, but that night I found comfort in knowing the moon
will always rise and realized that this is the kind of dependability I strive to
give my husband.
When
we let it, the world reveals itself to us. We make connections and poetry
happens—whether we write about it or not. For a brief moment, we resonate with
our purpose, our place. That moment—with all its ephemeral wisdom and
warmth—that moment of connection is love. And though these poems and songs
can’t fully recreate the connection, sink into the silence that follows them.
In that split second, love breathes.
—Rosemerry
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