Wednesday, May 5, 2021

Nothing at all Yonder

A moon so bright we didn't need headlights. Water lilies, frogs, unfortunate sons. Everything is falling, failing, forgetting.

A peace that is not merely the absence of not-peace.

Resting heron at a distance off Flat Iron Road, unbothered. Birth trees. Obsessions with money. What's dirty again?

What are hands for? Answers which are easier than I am.

Doors, delivery services, dense amalgams of Being.

Flirting with her on the steps outside City Hall, Lake Champlain a blue melting hurting my teeth, and nothing at all yonder. Places I've hit my head, places on my head where I've been hit. What is the sound of your footsteps?

Late morning sunlight blurred by hemlocks. Leaks.

The doubt given me is often total. This endless series of dreams, the Luciferian cleverness of saying it out loud, effectively dooming understanding. 

Tea with honey at dusk before the meeting begins. There is a miracle for everything, even this.

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