pa•limp•sest

I tasted this word on my tongue,

every syllable familiar,

the amalgam a mystery.

-

Palimpsest.

A parchment partially erased

to set a place for something new.

Or,

something old with new layers.

-

You see it, and through it,

to perceive pieces of the past,

the mystery hiding history,

now made clear as glass.

-

You see where it came from,

and where it has come,

and, just maybe, where it is going.

-

Palimpsest.

An enigma partially effaced

to set the scene for something known.

Same syllables,

more meaning.

-

I find comfort in unfound phrases.

I know what I know

and what I know

is safest.

-

I would live an enormously happy life

without this word, “palimpsest.”

Enriched in simplicity,

enveloped in serenity,

enough.

-

But I cannot unlearn it.

-

Now that I know

one more word with

two definitions and

three syllables, I am

forever changed.

-

The change is microscopic.

You cannot see it unless you look closely,

and even then

it blends

in.

-

Small thoughts

beget grand journeys.

-

Every change is microscopic.

You cannot see the trees for the forest,

the organism organized

from innumerable instances.

-

I wonder, will one word

undermine me?

Under fine lenses

undesign me?

-

It is only a word.

Every word

is only a word.

-

Small words

beget small thoughts.

-

Now I am different.

One atom set askew,

one layer laid down,

one meaning made plain.

-

You cannot pour new wine

into old wineskins.

But my skin is forever new

and ready to be filled,

to be poured into.

-

Change comes.

Life lives.

I am, and am becoming, and will be.

-

I taste this life on my tongue,

every memory familiar,

the amalgam a mystery.