The Same Gesture

There is a secret room
of golden light where
everything – love, violence,
hatred is possible;
and, again, love.

Such intimacy of hand
and mind is achieved
under its healing light
that the shifting of
hands is a rite

like court music.
We barely know our
selves there though
it is what we always were
– most nakedly are –

and must remember
when we leave, re-
suming our habits
with our clothes:
work, 'phone, drive

through late traffic
changing gears with
the same gesture as
eased your snowbound
heart and flesh.

from Collected Poems (Gallery Press, 1995) ? John Montague 1995, used by permission of the author and The Gallery Press.

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