Tuesday, April 6, 2021

Into Bright Air

A crepuscular maple leaf that survived winter finally releases, spirals into bright air, and grazes the window in morning breezes while I write as if my life or somebody's life depended on it. The few times she got drunk, the high price she paid, and now look. What did Ken Wapnick say again in letters you didn't feel a need to save? Cats curl up in broad squares of sunlight that slip slowly up the bedspread and disappear as morning progresses. We are all traveling, we are all lost on highways we made out of memories and dreams. No woman, no cry, nobody knows the troubles I've seen, don't worry be happy, et cetera. If I slighted you, forgive me, and if you cannot forgive me, then at least don't forget me. There are holes in the sky that were clearly put there by God, often indicated by rainbows or starlight. I will wait in you, prayerful and grateful, if you will let me wait, and when you are ready, I will go home with you, if that is what you want. That is what I am saying, what are you saying. Om shanti om shanti amen. 

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