Sunday, April 18, 2021

The Ocean is the Other

Threats of rain pass and we are left with vaguely gray skies and a heaviness that seems to be more than just weather. It's hard to talk in meaningful ways for a lifetime. Gaps in the fence are fixed over time, and we see less of the neighbors, and while this is satisfying in its way, it is also a reminder that we are maybe not as in love the way we profess. Geese pass, their guttural cries haunting, exactly the way one is haunted by what they have forgotten they forgot. What are we supposed to do with all these pronouns anyway? Garlic and spinach smoothies for lunch, three days running. Interior clarity as an actual function of gut health? Suggestions, hints, intimations, et cetera. A plains over which we must pass a thousand times before realizing the ocean is the other - the better - way. Talking about "The Dead," it occurs to me that I do not always practice epistemic humility, the virtue I profess all human beings should practice. Make me a sunflower please! His shoes reminded me of coffins for babies. "Do not take me to a disco" indeed.

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