“Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances.”

22 March 2010


"you know, you did one thing to save me, you kept me alive"

rain to keep me inside, singing and smudging and earning my keep.  the geranium offers its blackmagick bloom, on the orchid some wither as others unfurl.  in my dream i rode a tricycle while the lights went out in the dark country morning.  you held on, wrapped around me, and i pedaled with the utmost serenity back home beneath the rude incredulity of a lady in her car.  


"I didn't use any contractions in the narration, and I used Latinate words, polysyllabic words, instead of German monosyllables. Any time I could, I chose a longer word rather than a shorter word, as if Hemingway had never lived."

i feel ill-equipped for your heartbreak,  can only bear witness and pray for whats best.  can only Be Here as completely as i can, breath by breath, a Hudson Bay blanket and Love on the damp cold lawn of despair.  it soaks through your defenses a shiver that wont release your bones grim monday on the wind and something bitter burning.  i have just enough strength in me to lead you home, leave the wretched sick behind for the rain to wash deep into ground.  you came home early and we slept, how sweet to rest under eider while the world spins mad and cruel and elsewhere.  the fate of millions sucking surging every minute were asleep, feted unexpectedly by short and happy dreams.  "my name, and love" is what you didnt want to say and i cant imagine why.  


 
"Remember men, we're fighting for this woman's honour; which is probably more than she ever did."

spring the season of water, of change from frozen to open.  i feel the bones of the Antelope Wife beneath my skin the painted wagon behind the hedge is always that impossible?  its early yet, and still the stink of Dresden squats under our fingernails, in the folds of our clothes.  through Grace i set my burden down, my hands are free to steady you.  im getting stronger, my eyes arent distracted by the mexican standoff of Earth and Sky, where the sun selfimmolates and the light is blood over the ground.  there are moments of closeness that rush through me like foxfire.  there are epochs of loneliness.  so i fold shirts and feed the birds and sometime soon on the future ocean floor, itll rain.


"I've be waiting for you
To tell me something I already knew
And I've been waiting for some indication
That the hardest part is through
And I've been walking these hills in the afternoon
Watching the snow line slowly recede
Thinking if there's nothing that's mine to keep
Then there is nothing I will ever need
And all my doors are open wide
And I am staring at my life
Hearing sweet laughter of someone
I haven't seen for a long long time
And if there's nothing I expect
Then what the hell do I stand to lose
If given a choice between this and something easy
I know what I'd choose
'Cause I've already chosen."


birthday of Billy Collins.  prob. my fave, this one and the one about the dog.



















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"And if the question were asked: What is more real, the mundane or the sublime? most would hesitate before they gave an answer. On the one side, details: say, the aftermath of a breakfast, dirty chipped plates in the sink, their rims encrusted with egg yolk. Against this, the unnameable: small aching heart with boasts, what can you know? Outside the cage of everything we ever heard or saw, beyond, outside, above, there lies the real, hiding as long as we shall live, there stretch and trail the millions of names of God burning across the eons. When all through this our end will come before we even know the names of us.

For many the egg yolk prevails." -L.M.

"Love many things, for therein lies the true strength, and whosoever loves much performs much, and can accomplish much, and what is done in love is done well." -V.V.G.

"The perfection of the Absolute where all Becoming stops and pure Being, immutable, timeless, unchanging, hangs forever like a ripe peach upon the bough." -E.A.

"...and the whole incident was incredibly frazzling and angst-rod and filled almost a whole mead notebook and is here recounted in only its barest psycho-skeletal outline." -D.F.W.

"At the top of the mountain, we are all snow leopards." -H.S.T.

"Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live." -D.T.
"Cometh a voice: My children, hear; From the crowded street and the close-packed mart I call you back with my message clear, back to my lap and my loving heart. Long have ye left me, journeying on by range and river and grassy plain, to the teeming towns where the rest have gone - come back, come back to my arms again. So shall ye lose the foolish needs that gnaw your souls; and my touch shall serve to heal the fretted nerve. Treading the turf that ye once loved well, instead of the stones of the city's street, ye shall hear nor din nor drunken yell, but the wind that croons in the ripening wheat. I that am old have seen long since ruin of palaces made with hands for the soldier-king and the priest and prince whose cities crumble in desert sands. But still the furrow in many a clime yields softly under the ploughman's feet; still there is seeding and harvest time, and the wind still croons in the ripening wheat. The works of man are but little worth; for a time they stand, for a space endure; but turn once more to your mother - Earth, my gifts are gracious, my works are sure. Instead of the strife and pain I give you peace, with its blessing sweet. Come back, come back to my arms again, for the wind still croons in the ripening wheat."
-John Sandes, The Earth-Mother (excerpt, 1918)