Thursday, April 11, 2013

The Put-Back-Together Heart

Took a darker way today. You have to sometimes. In the distance - west - the train was loud and seemed to get nowhere. I stumbled into the brook, hurt my right hand on a rock. Bear laughs at two-legs: I'm going to eat you up!

I am known for my sense of direction, blessed with some interior compass that often translates to the larger question. The one who never loses his way is desired most by those who are lost. Yet leaning on pine trees obscuring the trail, breathing heavy and holding my arm, I did wonder. Be careful when you start using the phone. The only lies are the ones you don't see coming.

Bear follows: rank and wobbly and wild with hunger: the blood on my hand calls him. Owl sang close to me, song of the jilted lover, the put-back-together heart. Too much sleep means too many dreams. Nobody dies but every body folds back into the great fund which is never not in motion. You learn by looking inward, not by romanticizing strangers.

The hurt hand won't bring me coffee or hold lanterns or write poems. Bear sits outside on the brown grass and scratches his balls and wonders who made the stars and why he always wakes up alone. What went unmentioned until the eighteenth sentence was that Song, my dog, went missing on the walk. What has haunted me since time began is very near now, like violets in a clearing. At last I invite Him in and he talks and I listen, I listen, I listen.

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