Her shoulders, stronger than anything I know. Men who built crosses, men who needed crosses built, men who died on crosses, men who put other men to death on crosses. Pizza with basil, tomatoes and feta.
A promise that was not kept of which I can say happily "thank Christ it was not kept." Marigolds, how is more happiness even possible. It will storm soon, shall we check on the horses.
Karla asks Chrisoula, "why do you keep him around" and Chrisoula says, "he makes me laugh, he always has." Soap bubbles of unknowing. A disco that never closes, a dance that never ends.
Started writing love letters when I was six years old and now look. Stealing from your father's church, what else is sufficient unto love. Loading rail road ties into the truck for raised bed gardens.
Jasper says the clouds remind him of cloud-gazing once with an old girlfriend, I say more like the surface of a slow-moving river, maybe a long break-up, and we both become quiet, reflecting on our sins. "Can we sell the damn stove," she says to which I respond "sure, just as soon as it's no longer referred to in a Hayden Carruth poem."
What we call the beginning. Driving home from the Heath Fair, happy in ways I did not know was possible and yet all along was given, was right in front of me, like moonlight or a woman. Imagine being welcome.
Sometimes at night I will walk a long way in the darkness alone, find a place to sit in the forest, and listen to all the prayers the lost and forsaken pray, answering each and every one the same. Stacking hay, is there any other reason to live?
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