Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Our Shadows Precede Us

Mist gives way to sunlight, a ready series of angles refracted. We are always ready, we are always singing. Beyond blue hills - hills the color of dust and yet voluble - the moon, pale as chalk, containing its own blue (as white must) and rising slowly. Graceful edges where we know each other happily. Bells rang, horses responded. We watched a cardinal work its way through the hedge rows, coming closer and closer to the corn crib. A little brook? When the sun shines we are relieved, suggesting that may be our default condition. A flicker works the dull grass beneath the pine tree. Our shadows precede us. She stood before the painting, gazing at her reflection in its glass, wondering who would be home when she returned. A little girl holding a milk pail, a little bandana to say this is where I am. We slipped beneath blankets and it was as certain stars followed. Marriage a cold light moving north in slow waves. You have to be willing, that's all. Saints abound for those who have eyes to see. Biblical mercy easing out from under the piano. A ringlet of notes rose and fell, somewhat like rain in summer at dusk, and we identified the beloved. It is all according to plan.

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