Sunday, July 7, 2013

Welcoming the Stranger

An unspoken behest to consider Mexico. Or playing in a city while nobody watched and the sky - that part of it that was visible - darkened. I do.

There are those to whom the red balloon speaks. Yet we earn nothing and too often forget that. To be attentive is to love and love and order are the same.

Strength and loneliness combine in the kisses of immigrants. Passion always measures our sense of loss. How often must one indulge what is apparently forbidden - and so often - first - in stairwells?

There is always after. Rabbits appear leisurely beneath the bridge and yet who knows them knows the degree of their awareness. Who is shy in one setting is not in another.

Perhaps this particular longing has to do with play in language? Or not belonging? There is an element of hunger in the deeper sense and also the power always inherent in welcoming the stranger.

The backyard rose bush darkens and sags. One makes a catalogue of kisses and rereads it often, happy as always with any attention. What goes unsaid goes purest perhaps.

I fumble speaking with you but other gestures come naturally and you are grateful and readily - instantly - reciprocal. We work at what passes for love and share the learning accordingly.

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