I guess it’s too late to live on a farm. As if I could buy a house! Let alone land. A place of my own– is what my friend sighed, our someday dream, our loftiest goal. Today again I paid to learn, watching refugees sit and wait for their bus, and asked the doctor what the term really means– she couldn’t say exact qualifications, just that for some recognized reason, a person had to leave […]
Two shadows below: One cast by the bridge the other birds cast as a net and settled or as much as any living thing can be a shadow and a shadow diffusing like ink nothing ever lasting on water or lasting ever it’s just easier to see here a shadow and a shadow ebbing into flight
A return to the ground to sow more seeds prayers in a way when they are grown where will I be thinking back on this moment on how far we’ve both come the soil is cool and the morning birds are not alarmed now accustomed to this custom and oh today how it felt like an ending but roots I guess do their best work unseen.
Bernard.
Today I did I silly thing, and the answer I got was: Here comes the sun. It’s been a long cold lonely winter. And how. And how of all people could I be certain of anything? And yet. A dream of us so close I felt it on my skin. And the road back today with all its lucky white horses. I know the song and how it ends: Here comes the sun, here comes the sun, and […]
If it comes unbidden, consider it a gift– If it comes rehearsed, refuse it. These days I almost only trust the earth, the roots that it harbors, the life that bursts up from it when it cannot possibly wait one second longer–
Drunk of this new light this new sun right delirious everything is more now finally visible for all that it is winter has deceptive clarity how easy it is to forget that emptiness is also a state of being fillable lack giving flavor to abundance
It’s a real bitch to start a fire in the damp don’t I know and yet when you smile I remember it’s happened before– at least I think it was a smile it’s sometimes hard to tell with sidelong glances (If I could I’d blush I’m sure) this a more enjoyable sort of floating softening from sad and sodden to a nearly glad and the sillier soppy
More variable rain impulsive preordained in the way that a song is . and trust is not wholly incompatible with doubt or why such relief as a progression plays out? . these days it’s too hard inside to hear above the deafening silence . but out here the chord is always an open one and moving to resolve
This old dog gets lost inside the house now sticks her head into doors that she can’t place– is this the bathroom or is it the lake? And I can’t tell from her sweet face if she’s figured it out or forgotten what she came for– and how do I stop her world from receding when the hard truth is that it’s not the world that is leaving?
OPTIONAL POETRY 