by Glen Martin Fitch
When players
know their instruments so well
that thought is act
and both of them are one
or when impassioned poets
in a spell hear chanting faster
than a pen can run
or when an artist
in a vision's trance
knows where and
when and how
to yield accord
or when an actor,
learned in voice and stance,
can be beside himself
in spirits stored
or when a dancer
whirling past all pain
can feel the sense
of weightless,
formless flight
or when beyond thought
one can yet retain
the order of a sport
or test or rite,
it's then that one draws
pleasure out of strife,
one moment's taste of
lost immortal life.
Last updated August 23, 2011