Monday, March 23, 2020

Both Nakedness and Bread

Our hunger and tears, our favorite books, and the secrets we share with only one or two others. Orphans and witches know the forest in a way you don't which is why dogs were for so long necessary. A last gust of wind sails through the sky and one contemplates yet another apology. Long ago it was clear that not withstanding our gift for words, the work was to consent to an interior transformation of which one would likely not be able to speak. In fact, the devil does keep his promises - it's you and I who like to tease the future with cheap transgressions. Twice in the past week I have flown over the pasture as far as the river, Emily Dickinson clapping in delight. The firmament is a shared dream and this is why we have tongues. Oh do plunge your hands in the cold river, make of them a fleshy bowl, for I am thirstier than words can say. I walked back shivering but delighted to have seen so intimately what the Lord longs to give. How confused I am by both nakedness and bread! Our hearts are less bellows than vocal magisteria. Even this poem is not so mysteriously the light by which it is read.

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