Monday, February 25, 2013

A Blessing Upon You

Letting go. The dog races ahead of me, disappears at the hill's crest. Cars pass, their engines audible for many miles. In a pine bough somewhere, cardinals sleep a fitful sleep.

Rabbit tracks, deer prints, hollows in snow banks where yesterday the wind nestled. While you sleep, I walk, and mount incomprehensible stairs to an end I can no longer imagine. That which is beyond - or before - the possibility of change. One or two stars visible near dawn demand something, or seem to.

In my dream you urged me to try harder and it was many hours into waking before I remembered to ask a blessing upon you. Solar roofs mostly paid for by the government. In another snow bank, a few tresses of green, likely frozen. There is a relationship between wanting and time, one that we must address.

Yet I cannot stop longing for your notes, even now. Contrails fill the sky, sunlight peeks in from behind clouds, and biology proceeds apace. Letting go even more. In New Hampshire, the old queen perfects her melodies.

Thus fear, thus this. If we meet, will we discuss sentences? I cannot bear your worldliness. How white and pure the moon is when one looks at it alone.

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