Loving an Extension of an Old Promise

We persevere. We go into the dialogue each the other's bearer, and we make the map by insisting on long silences. 

What is green, what lives, what is that blue light in your throat. We make love without talking, our loving an extension of an old promise to keep an even older agreement fashioned by women only one of us knows. 

Rain in the afternoon yet after midnight the clouds rapidly disperse leaving starlight and the soft music of water slipping through veils made of maple leaves.

There are many lies but only one truth? Going through old articles I read in 2014 and 15, back when Husserl was the answer. What else is prismatic (and not how do prisms work) was a nontrivial inquiry that consumed a great deal of childhood. 

Letting go can be conditional but the letting go to which I am now committed cannot be. In another room a phone rings and nobody answers. 

Comprised of inferences, references and sentences. Rereading Watership Down, remembering it as one of the few pieces of writing outside of Wendell Berry's essays and John's Gospel that Dad and I agreed mattered. Waves roll up on the beach, and all the grains of sand whisper that death when it comes will not be so bad.

She leads me to an interior temple I had long disregarded, instructs me to clean it, and says she will be back in a week or two. At night now I play guitar on the back steps, the songs that made me happiest - City of New Orleans, Don't Think Twice, Duncan and Pastures of Plenty. 

Saw in hand, scaling the hemlocks next to the chicken coop, it occurs to me I may be overplaying the "I hate cutting down trees" card. 

The marigolds go on, the cosmos go on.

Her shyness extending the invitation makes me weep answering yes. At night the river begs a different understanding of music and darkness.

There are many ways to wash Her feet, and all of them together are the only reason to kneel.