My Discarded Concordance

What does the moon perceive if not that which perceives it, else what is the collective doing? The unpossessed, unpossessing collective? We stake the peonies with pickets from an old fence dug out in the forest, the little that stands between us and the river. Trillium asked the impossible which was an invitation to reconsider one's experience of boundaries, limits &c. I'm on the far side of hills that Emily Dickinson once gazed upon, but that means nothing in the presently-constituting, altogether neutral geometry. What else is new? In other words, what is rerouted still flows, making in essence an argument for revising our insistence on this and not that habit of spatio-temporal perception. Erection? Well, that which can be set aside anyway, manuals be damned. Maple leaves turn quickly in the north wind, a sort of surrender, or testimony to the present's present presenting, the way hummingbirds resting in the apple tree witness unto a living God, its specifically masculine joy. Your used bookstore is my discarded concordance, bible as blanket for those inclined to fatigue and sleep and dreams. No more miracles, please, and no more talk about "healing" now we know there is only this perfection. We walk to our favorite bridge, lean on its west side and study in gauzy distance a trapezium-shaped garden. "Look," I say, pointing at eleven rows of budding green, "seams through which the Lord passes," to which Chrisoula replies, "your Lord is lettuce?" Later, in the cemetery, we paused by decades-old barbed wire and thought about the cows who once made quick study of this field of memorialized dead. Let us pray, let us now praise the worthy, and let us forgive the many adjectives which cheapen our discourse and dialogue. Where the path fades, one's feet become the teacher. Study shoes! Dance is the new religion, hence my love of mirror balls. It's the landscape that's moving now, shimmy and shiver, a passing show of light and fancy, while this stillness-beyond-language just watches, as happy as happy can be when there is no such thing as loss.