Saturday, May 11, 2013

Happy Against Long Odds

Letting go is okay. You get good at it. And nobody is ever really alone.

Once again in Boston with a woman! And pigeons, those self-directed angels of all cities everywhere. One remains grateful, despite the tidal suck of past and future.

Reading Bohm on the porch while bees guzzle the phlox. Dialogue is not always within our control and you either make peace with that or you don't. Headstones, mailboxes, primrose, tea.

And later, walking, one felt again the dim wonder that always attends and cannot be compromised or surrendered. We are always left with photographs! And phases of the moon, like a well-read book, showing up on the nightstand.

I remember watching cows amble slowly away from me on dusty paths in summer. My daughter talks to her chickens. And you can't kill a bluet, not really.

Purpose is as purpose does! I remember sipping wine with you, watching the Saint Louis streets darken, and struggling - as we all did in those days - to understand line endings. Who goes, goes in peace.

I skip lightly in darkness, over this puddle then that. Rain falls, and I sing a little, the way you do when you're happy, against long odds.

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