Writing in the Margins

Dale Ritterbusch

Looking back, reading again what I had written in that narrow space upon the page, I recall the celebration of some thought leading on to another, and it is some wonder that I finished the page, a refugium, I suppose where ideas thrive, like monks in a monastery unvisited and timeless. Perhaps not, perhaps deep time, the only comforting place to be found, a habitation of what these monks would call the soul, though I, an unbeliever, believe only in these few notes responding to the world I wanted to stay away from. Now I wish a return, a visit to those moments, those forays I cherished. Sweet god, give me the margins and the small text of this life, and I will gladly leave all other pleasures behind.