Gliding Hinge

A little gift—to make meaning
Stick—to make meaning but also
To give it away—to witness
An unkindness or a sunset—
To flood it with full attention—
So that it was as if the chest
Of the bully spitting insults
Opened as imperceptibly
As an artisan’s cabinet
To show the meanings on its shelves—
So that it was as if the light
Suffusing the air without clouds
Held an entire mythology
Glorious and particular
To the ancestors of the soul
Being bullied in the twilight—
And later—months or years later—
Possibly centuries later—
Anyone stumbling on that light
Illuminating doors ajar
Would understand what was shown them
And not even need to attend
To the gliding hinge—not even
Need to make meaning for themselves—
Would just know what it had to mean
This moment and every one since.