So the days pass.
So the stars filter their own light to hide what we can't yet see. Does it matter that you are loved?
The collective illusions - Da Vinci, Johnny Cash - work just as well as the personal. In general, we see what we need to see, hear what we need to hear. I wouldn't go at it any other way.
One studies forgiveness and only later practices it. Horses plod through snow, eyeballing us warily, uninterested in entering the forest on such a frigid day. A few strands of cloud, a half moon due South. It was Blake, I think, who said we are here to bear the beams of love a little while.
Or pace monastery halls, sucking hard candy and dreaming of France. Government can come to no good. She collected glass bottles, turning them this way and that on the window sill. One remembers a slant of light and in remembering falls weeping.
I am coming around to the notion that form is simply an extension of content. Some decisions are harder than others. We spent the morning looking at the broken tractor, smoking away the aftertaste of last night's whiskey.
I'll give you a dollar if you can show me where God is not. Alligators and sharks worship only hunger which is why we fear them.
Or seem to.
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