Wednesday, December 7, 2011

The Dubious Gift Of Knowing

Duck shadows, tall grass. The sun rose and kept rising and when I looked again Venus was up above the pine trees. That world which I love despite knowing better. What do you think?

Gypped out of a taco. The tractor tires lay covered in snow, mouse prints going in and out, tending each of the cardinal directions. Repetition is fun, period. Later, we went out ourselves, mulling the dubious gift of knowing we are going to die.

"And yet" is why you can't go home. Another writing project, another self of which I must disabuse my self. High shelf? Sometimes you build mansions where a cottage would have done.

And yet. I wake the same, unawakened, and wonder what it is I think is going to happen. We open our arms to the sky. Open, unopened.

That dream is okay but I want another one. You in it. Despite the baubles attending the necessary ceremony, I continued to care for you, and it was that more than anything which led me to the  balcony where I saw, for the first and only time, as it were, Christ's face. You can learn a lot watching dogs.

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