Tuesday, February 5, 2013

Before One Falls

It is so cold that right before one falls on the ice, one knows they are going to fall on the ice, and still falls. The far corner of the field, where I saw the lie that God had been, and the Truth in which the lie was redeemed. Oh Jonathan Edwards, how I long to hold you and say it's all going to be alright.

Her poems remain instructive, her letters more so. We see what we want to see, when we are ready to see it, in other words. Imagine the lives of plankton!

A spinal curvature suggestive of royalty. When writing history, one is writing fiction, necessarily. You remind me of walking my dog in the late nineties, sprawling trails along the lake at 5 a.m., spooked deer, the only peace in days that were given to conflict.

If you aren't going to follow, then lead! One serves, one steps aside and allows the service to happen. A few flakes of snow, a prismatic glimmer as the sun sets, and the peace inherent in night comes on.

The steer returns. You haven't seen a monkey until you eat five bananas with one on your shoulder. I did fall, and it hurt, but I got up and kept walking, and about half a mile into it - out near the cattail bent and frosted like glass - remembered to laugh.

In my dream, an old tie that I never liked, and a King who did not see that his fool - his servant - was wiser than he. In some ways, we are always walking in the mall, and we are always wondering whose hand we will be allowed to hold next. Teaching, preaching, beseeching.

Leeching? Thought is external, you see, makes good bridges, but can't for its life fall in love with a river.

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