A Ritual to Read to Each Other

A Ritual to Read to Each Other


by William Stafford

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the
   world
and following the wrong god home we may miss
   our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind, 
a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break
sending with shouts the horrible errors of
   childhood
storming out to play through the broken dyke.

And as elephants parade holding each
   elephant's tail,
but if one wanders the circus won't find the
   park.
I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty
to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something
   shadowy,
a remote important region in all who talk:
though we could fool each other, we should
   consider-
lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the
   dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,
or a breaking line may discourage them back to 
   sleep;
the signals we give-yes or no, or maybe-
should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

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