The crows move on, the cardinals move in and is it me or are the chickadees less prevalent this year? Afternoons pass walking up Fairgrounds Road to the town line then back, holding my jacket folded under one arm, trying out this or that sentence, as if love really does require poetry. We glimpsed one another through a crowded room, we took each other's hand, we spoke as men about death. Mornings I go slower now it's Spring, standing near the top of the pasture, listening to bird song, pale orange mare's tails floating over the river. A light in me won't let go or am I still confused about something important? Who will answer now the question has been loosed upon the world? In the heart there is another heart, and in that heart another heart (where Emily Dickinson lived), and in that heart there is a tiny room (where Jesus met the disciples), and in that room there is a little box, and in that box, a locket, and in that locket are the cosmos, which include you. This is my witness, let me not forget. Om shanti shanti shanti, amen.
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