Saturday, December 17, 2011

The Dog Outside

Remember the days when there was nothing to do but dream about apples? Thus the poem - nestled in the twenty sentences - begins. A Roman senator passed by the window, his mind on a bowl of figs. We are what we perceive and what we perceive we believe. Push a little and see if the world doesn't give.

She was interested in liberation theology though she'd never heard the phrase before the conference. The dog outside will not come in. If you want meaning, you're going to have to come and claim it. Five more minutes before the house changes shape. Three witches in the hedge, plotting against us.

A gunmetal sky, a flat palm coming your way. It - meaning what - is never as easy as we'd like. Suddenly time begins to pick up speed, much like a car as it goes downhill. He paused only to ask if it was one word or two. In photographs you are beautiful but impossible to love.

In our brief exchanges, I have come to realize that I cherish in you only what recalls the burnished past. A tangle emerges, to the left of which Jesus gently reminds me that conflict is unnecessary. A temple emerges, another obstacle to peace. In a moment I am going to wake up but first let me tend to his corner of the dream. Cancer has entered our lives.

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