Gathering Together

Nowhere Man by Theresa C. Newbill

The morning light maintains cell memory 
and I’m settled into one with its energy, 
cohesive, integrated, silent. There’s a 
personal sense of security that whispers, 
dismantling my defenses, shattering the 
the walls of self-protection, leaving me 
vulnerable, exposed to the apex of love 
where your voice floats out from clouds 
caressing away the coldness of winter. 

It’s been a long time since we’ve talked. 
I guess I’ve been too even-tempered, too 
levelheaded to believe you were always 
there. In my heart you were the nowhere 
man that spoke in secret code about the 
endless knots of hope that gives flight to 
dragonflies in dreams, when it’s over, when 
nothing matters but fatigue and expressed 
regrets. 

You’ve been inarticulate in my life for quite 
awhile, but now you have a hold on me; our time 
includes memories of all proportion, many I’d 
like to soon forget; but the limbs of the Earth 
are extended in spirals that want to unbend 
reaching out to me when I’m barely hanging on. 
Stricken by the reflection of you in the brightest 
of skies, they start to unravel, keeping me 
from falling and I understand the nature of your 

poetry. I can capture joy and sorrow with the ease 
of keystrokes; my point of view can be the perfect 
inspiration or the perfect parting shot. I can put 
to rest all the rumors that stir without substance, 
or incite them just by being different. In a single 
glance the outlines can change from the gesture of 
magic to grass blades aflame with man’s mortality. 
In my stories there are angles of smoldering pinks 
to gentle grays, 

splashed among the winds slow to show gratitude, 
as I’m erased. In my apocalyptic vision I see 
everything simultaneously through near death, 
like some formula that’s lost its relevance. Sometimes 
I think my imagination has let me down, and I’m 
unreceptive to its return. What message is it that you 
want me to deliver? I have felt you in every horizon! 
Forgive my Godless stances of the past, I now know, it 
was your poetry I was missing; you, my Lord and Savior.