To marvel at Gibran the writer, his works, or the self disclosure both reading and knowing him brings. Which? Which? Perhaps, we should not try to disassemble anything that already
leaves us feeling whole. We cannot reassemble colors into pure white light simply by thinking like a prism.
The mind shreds, the heart keeps whole. The mind, the house…the heart, the home inside it. Even describing this duality, is dangerous. Perfect poetry cannot be heard… but do we ever love “imperfection!”
The poem is powdered magnesium, the ear is a burning flame, the heart is water. Disclosure is the explosion when they come together.
