Thursday, January 31, 2013

The Yes We Are Not Ready To Say

The idiom is selective more than selected. A broken chair faces the road. Two deaths in nine days is not remarkable and yet. The narrative pushes itself, and pulls us, and before we know it.

Both of the cats slept while we bailed water. One years to live before they die and becomes famous trying but still dies. This is the dream we were told about and the way out is right in front of us. Death as a center, death as a lake.

For Sue she used capitals. One senses the fonder eclipse, one stares idly at the moon shining on the lawn. Cameras are portable sarcophagi. We want to say something and so we do and then after think, was that what I meant?

A loveliness that becomes unbearable the more I study it. Allowances were made and the world followed and so we stand knee deep in it, wondering when things will change. Montpelier, Vermont, where I wandered for days recalling the starving deer of childhood. This, too.

The mode sings us, the melody is how we stumble, up one hill and down another, forever uttering home. Breathe me indeed. Unexpected gratitude opens a door beyond which is a field in which we long to play but for the yes we are not yet ready to say. Before dawn he whispered okay.

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