i have no idea how this is going to go. any of it, to the last glorious scale of this mad dragon. ive thrown all the cards into the air and they just drift down infinitely by halves, never reaching the ground. for not getting anywhere, i feel like stephen hawking. the vast roiling universe contained in this bonejug of a skull, sitting under a suburban upstate roof on a rainy monday. how odd. im not horrified by it at all, really. lonesome, reckless, prodigal, determined to conceal its purpose until the last empty page perhaps. so i dont wait anymore for a reason, or an answer. the questions are much more interesting. a real pageturner.
"Only when it is dark enough, can you see the stars."
willow bestows the first green blush to a wyeth landscape. clouds dissolve in afternoon sun and the smell of rain rises up from the ground. ransom. hes so far from the shore i dont even look for the boat anymore. i tend to my knitting, every now and again trying to remind that theres someone still somehow, even if we pose only the vaguest of outlines, dark shapes on the sand with inconvenient needs and a dog. we try not to tax, blessed as we are with independent dispositions gained from great experience. but still here, and adrift, a woman and her child on the shoreline, the tide turning, the piano sucked deeper into sand. natives will find us under the hoopskirt, inventing some new language. the conductor never called for all aboard, and in dumb disbelief we watch it roll out of the station, gaining speed, the whistle grim and beautiful in our ears.
youre a cowboy now, he said.
"Every leaf of the tree becomes a page of the Book / Once the heart is opened and it has learnt to read."
living alone. always back to the living alone a yurt in the back treetop greenhouse the creamsicle salvaged from weeds. heavyhorse womans daughter with her two husbands, fun and profit. because at this point im not going to start reading redbook getting my hair frosted and dinner with the girls. theres a balance, some truth somewhere between Hedgewitch and Hi and Lois. youre always picking up pieces, he said. St. Jude next time, he said. living someone elses life, he said. living alone in the broken moon halflight living off air and elsewhere. what will it take to get closer to whole? but what a gift this has been, this lostness.