It's cool how easily google lets the idea that you're an expert at something slip into your brain. It arouses no suspicion, given that tired expectation that you're better than (whatever).
I feel like this poem is a literal hand bang against (upon?) one's words -- an attempt at cracking the wall, unleashing the what nots from below. I used to have a dear friend on here who'd see each one of her letters off with (*) and, at first, I just thought of it as a star up in the sky. She eventually explained to my (out-of-the-loop) self that it was actually a bird's eye view of a person offering a hug.
If I'm anywhere near the mark with my impressions then...
. I hope it helps. Don't feel so abandoned by the world.
There is always this sense of largeness in your poetry that I admire. It's like embracing what life has to offer at any given moment and finding joy or contentment in that. I read the New Testament and I find a type of wisdom from the apostles and prophets but sometimes the peace and contentment spoken of seems remote and elusive. When I read your poems I feel like I'm witnessing what these things mean for us as humans today. In the mad world we live in where there are not so many honored or revered things beyond the self.
It's uplifting, but also real because you don't hesitate to express the darkness that can settle in sometimes. But it's like it's there, but in the palm of a hand, and with some effort the particles of it can be blown out into the world like dust or sand, to dissipate.
I like this poem for the way it seems to address the creative process and that kind of hunger it brings sometimes but still -how other things come in and bookend it or distract or -maybe it's just elusive.
But, also with the allusion to Havishams the poem is heightened and there's this sense of mystery. Like is it that the speaker identifies some way with that story, and if so which perspective. Or is it just expressing a sense of getting lost in the world of another. Especially the historical stories can be transporting and then you're just lost there not wanting to come back. I went through a Jane Austen period and all I did in my spare time (usually the wee hours cuz my kids were babies) was read her books. I can tell you anything about Regency history now, ha.
Anyway, I don't really want to know which it is. That's the fun of reading. What it makes the imagination do. And the way you take these little pure bits and make them transcendent is lovely, and often inspiring. Really.