A Given Moment of Hunger

Early flutes - neolithic - suggesting what relationship with silence? Prettier architecture wouldn’t hurt anybody, we’ve lost something with respect to aesthetics. Is it too late to better understand economics? No to discipleship, that was never the point. How we walk slower growing older, following each other by going side-by-side. Reaching out at 2 a.m. for her hand, not caring if I wake her. Pushing the writing – this writing - beyond where it makes sense, beyond where “making sense” makes sense  - or at least deserves to be rigorously questioned – altogether a way of seeing if it’s really over or what. Idling in traffic, eyes straight ahead. Sitting by the river on an unseasonably warm day in winter, wondering how the trout and crayfish are doing. How many more days? Discussions about building a greenhouse trail off, some of what mattered once mattering less apparently, who knew. Houses that are right next door to cemeteries, ancient ones, the headstones leaning, chiseled names and dates blurring smoothing out. Every ghost I ever met was annoyed with me for haunting them. Trying to relate a given moment of hunger to how my parents thought about food, a surprisingly difficult exercise but not invaluable. Visiting Plymouth, no reason in particular, and later Berkeley, where Dad owned land. Small bodies of water on the edge of the city, presided over by steaming factories that seem to belong to another story, one I do not know how to tell. Listen.