Wednesday, February 13, 2013

Always Sadness and Love

Are we getting ahead of ourselves? Some things hurt.

The waves rise and fall, the folds open and close. The universe as a giant origami swan leaves me smiling when much else can't.

Don't think so much! The letters show up and go out, show up and go out.

Who loves the sea? We are walking together in the shadow of a mountain our fathers both climbed.

The horse pulled back rather than cross the little brook. She giggled after, as if we'd been telling jokes.

Coffee, serious books, and later writing. How can I explain this yearning for a typewriter?

We are what we love. The magic of geometry, say.

The landscape of a poem? Your drum interferes with the melody I am hearing.

One longs for a certain quality of mercy. Or else follow the sheep behind the barn, numb to the smell of blood.

I enjoy chess even though I always lose. Oh and remember chasing each other after Saturday mass, how sweaty we were, and how you said quietly that your father was calling, and how when you left I stayed behind the church a long time, confusing as always sadness and love?

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