Hiding out. Hours after days of rain. In the distance - past the neighbor's sheep, past the lumber yard - a male cardinal's loping flight. No mountains near enough to dwarf these low hills.
Perhaps the heart is on a secret adventure, perhaps it is watched over by gods, perhaps everything unfolds according to plan.
For the life of me now I cannot remember happier. At night my heart seizes like the Titanic upending and briefly I can neither think nor breathe. Early alarms to remind us the blind horse needs checking. When I understood what I was becoming and did not say no or turn away.
What a maple tree knows about place that you do not.
Sunlight decanting into icy rivers in our fiction.
Stars fall in tangled grass beyond the pasture, become bright pink flowers I do not know the names of. Kind words. Pulling away from Le Havre, having finally sinned in an unforgivable way, night falling forever. Projection as a denial of God's Creation.
Something stolen, something unscrewed.
Something else that I am not allowed to say, that dies between my lungs and lower throat. Followers who leave to share the good news they learned by following. Light rain at three a.m., slipping a little on grass near the lilac. This prayer of you that lives in my bones and my shoes.
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