the collector

Poem #63 from a series of poems drawn from the imagination and collected as: a Bachelard reverie.

Back to Bachelard and me – Introduction

this one?
ah well
this one

he spoke
with deep timbre
in a voice
resonant with understated pride

this was one that I first saw
a half a glimpse
in a twist of sunlight
then gone

not sure I was fully awake
at the time
but I knew
I had to chase it down

for hours
all through a day
I tried to see it
to feel it or hear it

to conjure it

when I slept that night
I dreamt it
real as real
but when I woke
it was gone

left me bereft
truly it did

I had to look away
to attend other matters
other deeds
and then
days later
it was suddenly there
in front of my eyes

without thinking
I thrust a hand out
and clasped it

so beautiful

so delicate

I immediately forgot everything else
of course
set to work to pin it properly
to the page
so it wouldn’t escape me again

it’s unique
you know

he looked down
at the pages
laid open before him

every one of them
is unique
and elusive

I think that’s why
I love them so much

every one
an original

and only I
can catch them

© Frank Prem 2017

Bachelard and me Poem #64: see that

2 thoughts on “the collector

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