Morning of the last day of 33. The act of negotiation. The gathering, and again gathering, and again gathering. Of self, of with-others, of material, of food, of motion across miles, of stillness. Simple. This thing that holds with/in-it-death could be so simple. This path, the end. Gathering until I die, gathering with death, death a gathering up and on and further still and not a dissolution or dissolve. Here and elsewhere. The rain. The water dripping from the porch. And cicadas. Traffic. Lone moth kamikaze diving a yellow bulb. What freedom? Still so much time. To what responsible? To what respond? The smell of water in the pine. And the heart moves with the red and the yellow and the light thin bulbs against the dark clouded expanse. Welcomed. Oh. The door, ajar. And the space for - not more of the same - but for moving out across the not yet formed or known or spoken. The wholly other. As if identity locates itself in penumbra? In each other. In negotiating. If called into the dark, it is for being found. What is the finding thing? Love finds. In the lost city. For in the lost, a city. A city capable of falling. Would you destroy here? Is it all rage, then? The meaning-thing? The absolute in need of sacrifice? In the desert, a bookstore, on the table Wiman’s couplet: let, let, let - what kindness in? Oh, mercy. Mercy. To call without force. The knocking, a persistent kindness. And what door opens? Simple, entire. A whole night. A particular aloneness. The sound of gravel under feet, a flushing toilet. Not light, not - alarm goes off. Tent light lights. Cat screech. Again sudden wet pine. Where the sun will come, a round light rises. A plane below the clouds? Marfa lights? It is gone. And returns. This morning star. And under, smaller, redder - Mars? To live fearlessly. Without anxiety. To allow great fear. Real fear swallows death. It let’s it in, in the making-human. "...to feel myself beloved on the earth." A cat? A zipper. And, the birds. Owls, yes. And - first rooster crows. These small brown things in the trees. Wagon, wagon, heart on fire. Heart, I am listening. Heart, what do you say? and break break break the light, the day
Posted on: Tue, 30 Jul 2013 18:50:27 +0000
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