Saturday, August 20, 2022

Time Becomes a Wound

Moonlight over the airport, how did it come to this. Blue heron circling the swamp, settling in the distance between dusky reeds. The arch of my foot, the scar that is my throat.

How a need unmet in time becomes a wound. We shared an ice cream cone on the steps of the old town hall. Peace came but it took a while, there was work to do, there were puzzles to make, there were relationships that had to be taken to the river and released.

What is fair. One becomes resonsible for projection, realizes they are lonely, and starts looking for a bridge. They live now as statues, as characters in a tale they did not know they were telling.

Suffering becomes us. Chrisoula finds me in the hay loft, coffee and writing, rainbows cast by prisms everywhere, and it's hard to say the simple thing, our marriage was always about saying and doing - and sustaining the other in saying and doing - the hard thing, the difficult thing. Roadside chicory and queen anne's lace, may we never forget the body's contingency and thus our shared cause for joy.

Pretending again. Jasper says maybe it's okay it's all about sex, we're monkeys in the end, what's wrong with saying yes a lot. Venus in the sky at dawn, fear coming down the hills like an army, so laying down my arms, opening my arms.

The many meanings of "passing." Messages. Shopping with Fionnghuala is like remembering something I left out in the rain, going out to find it's still there, but washed clean.

Don't look now but the Lover isn't done asserting his prerogative. Nothing moves me like moving in you with you.

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