Sunday, August 9, 2015

The Wordy Engagement

The skunk wanders in circles, soft and luminous in the darkness, not unlike the way I imagine making love to you will be, or would have been, were I more inclined to travel and you somewhat less bothered by your weight. It's not summits I'm after but movement itself. Hardship doesn't bother me, most kinds anyway, nor long hours alone where nobody ever goes. Horses step carefully over stones to reach the low sweet clover. How strange nearing fifty to succumb finally to the welter of not-knowing that has so long been nibbling at my toes! Images abound, and strains of a submerged melody awaiting formal composition, and also an old but still pleasing obsession with apples and orchards. Walking around the yard naked at midnight, beyond caring. Who hungers, lives. As if a little flame really does suffice. What do you see when you close your eyes? Whatever I don't say is what will haunt you most unfortunately. Morning coffee, the wordy engagement, and a thought that maybe it is time to look somewhere other than after my father.

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