Yellow buttercups full of sunlight. Cardinals on the garden fence. When I was born I did not choose for my sixth decade to be defined by violets and yet. In my heart, many finches.
A sentence stands in relation to space and to what cannot be contained by space (yet from time to time consents to be). These headaches leaving me vomiting, everybody worrying, is this what you wanted. I remember watching a seagull tear an eel to shreds in Rhode Island, I felt both its hunger and the eel's suffering and never really recovered. Ascending stairs to find more stairs, et cetera.
Moths resting in tall grass at dusk. How the undersides of the clouds darken as if with water or the anger of the hunted. Dreams in which certain themes prevalent in Scooby Doo appear and reappear, reminding me what to take seriously and what not. Reading poems outside in early summer, the afternoon light making all distance appear negotiable.
We walk two miles with a saw, come back with a Christmas tree. How happy I am roasting turkeys, sitting alone in the kitchen with my books and pencils, is it really so simple. And so at last I left, and turned back once or twice, doubled back to be sure, and then saw the futility of goodbye and at last - without effort at all - it ended. Letting a new apple tree grow by which I mean, giving attention to what is happening in a particular time and place in a particular way.
We do not enter time, time enters us. When I was allowed to learn what a symbol was and then and only then understood this facility with language. Homemade iced coffee, sharing a cup while talking out back. I cannot displace her though I have tried, was this what you were trying to teach me?