Wednesday, September 28, 2011

All The Way A Long Way Down

What happens when the kidneys go? I passed a sunflower, touched its largest petal, and was surprised by beads of water. At night, drinking coffee, listening to leaves fall in the garden. One follows another and it's all the way a long way down. You can't be invested in Heaven, in other words. Or was Orion's belt a blur, like handfuls of salt dissolving in water? And was it a bear that we smelled, standing on the bridge, where twenty years ago I paused to gaze across the cattail into the unknowable future? Where the hill crests up, the ghost of a horse. We make the past what it is so there's something to hold onto going forward. My love would not be enough. And yet. Or in addition, against dreams of peak oil, fantasizing about who will be saved on the rich family's farm, and who will be scrounging in renegade gardens, nursing dark secrets at night with their guns. Only those in need of saving talk about salvation. Dreams, more dreams, and the dream that holds them all in its mouth. Hubris invites a breakneck learning that God would prefer we dissemble more slowly. This particular cat's paws will no longer be heard passing nightly through the kitchen. Once again, we reassemble our living quarters, and once again we ask what the roof is for, and each room, and each piece of furniture, as if there was a plan, any plan at all. The part of the illusion that we choose to call Death is the part I abhor. It was a night flooded with stars, in which I drank coffee and dreamed up lines of poetry, all the while nursing an ache, all the while as sad as always. There are no bottom lines is maybe all that's left to say.

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