Friday, May 15, 2020
Two geese circling from the north to whom the horses give no attention. Always notice what you notice. Hunger is not a sin, therefore feeding it is not a crime. Jagged hills define the valley in which sometimes in summer lightning is seen at a distance. Define joy? My sister near Grand Rapids, my sister in Christ. Overnight frost appears on the arching limbs of wild raspberry bushes, spackles the potato garden like handfuls of divinely flung sea salt, its collective holiness defying the camera's bland eye. If you listen, you can hear the river over and above the traffic on Route Nine, and over and above all that, a softer hum to which your heart and lungs readily harmonize. We are aspiration embodied. Whatever I feared has gone, and what remains is my childish love of fear, my patience with what makes it hard to be so happy. Were they lost after all or are we simply finding our own selves? My broken heart, my luminous hands, my wordy poems. The sky in which our shared soul brightens, and stuff.