Books about memory skill have moved Darling to actively work on his own. Poetry commitment is the first vein of practice. The first poem has been this classic (and so of New York) number by Whitman (of course).
Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.
|PASSING stranger! you do not know how longingly I look upon you,|
|You must be he I was seeking, or she I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a dream,)|
|I have somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you,|
|All is recall’d as we flit by each other, fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,|
|You grew up with me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me,||5|
|I ate with you, and slept with you—your body has become not yours only, nor left my body mine only,|
|You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as we pass—you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return,|
|I am not to speak to you—I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone,|
|I am to wait—I do not doubt I am to meet you again,|
|I am to see to it that I do not lose you.|
The moment of quickening, the briefest visual exchanging of selves, the hot rush that feels like one (of many) version of I love you. It follows no reason but is beautiful, human, resonant, exact.