Wednesday, October 5, 2011

In These Bodies In This World

One assumes an ashen vigor, one does. The lady bug moved a quarter inch up the jonquil stem and another drop of rain fell. We are not who we were led to believe we were, a realization that is not of itself salvatory. Even to question duality is to accept duality. And where are you now, who carried my umbrella through the streets of Moscow circa 1992?

We work the cloudy river, intent on understanding water's relation to spirit. The rules are that you can't kill trout, you can't hunt bear. All dogs contain the shadow of their own death, which is no comfort, no comfort at all. We segment, we separate. Yet there exists a sort of sushi way of creating a functional network.

All morning between tears and cleaning closets, struggling to manage the dust. The abstraction wore us down until at last there was nothing left to do but purchase coffees and drink  them out on the ledge. Egrets balance on the ethical limb. He saved his mentor's killer, and released him in a snowy wood. We went out into the night, surprised at the moon and its dream of old letters.

One senses the noose, sees a last tremulation of heavenly cumulus south and a bit west and then the muslin hood falls, and the sound of women sobbing is suddenly clear, like a single ray of afternoon sun after seven days of rain. Silence is not the answer. At night in the calm mallow of the only streetlight for at least seven miles, remembering you and knowing at last we will not meet again, in these bodies in this world, I am moved not to tears but a happy smile, at last a fool in the hills of his worn out childhood. At once a single star thinned and sank lower. Remember that the leaves that fall don't stop to think are they falling in the light.

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