Saturday, February 7, 2015


They walk on in darkness, and will not understand. An old woman grasps a steel railing, her hand a berm. I'm surrounded by attachments, like the leash on a dog they're persuaded will run away. But I want to run away, smell the secret spots beside the trees, hump a bench or two, sequester myself on a long beach. The poet quoted Paul Tillich, said he felt love most when he was alone. The mind runs until its wheels enter the belly, air gathering between earth and torso. We're only permitted flight when we attend. Be there, where there's nothing more than frond, ellipsis, air. You sewed the binding, punched the holes yourself. There are those we cannot fill, except over-. Asphalt eyes.

--8 February 2015

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