Wednesday, January 28, 2009
The morning has slipped in on a sticky fog.
Another long night's vigil leave tattered hearts and endless Mind, shakey from boundless connection.
No longer asking Who's razor edge?
And Why vanished with the bang.
"What"--- is well, everything, and everything IT is not.
Leaving ....when... open ended.
Now, is the effort at hand, quietly focused.
Breathing with her, every draw, though lungs went sludge from pollution, I enshrine new potted green, left from the holidays, near her bed, so she can smell a promise of our love returned. She's awake, frightened as am I, that Our deeply held convictions won't be enough. Though magical thinking dumps countless thimbles full of evidence, the rooms are papering with ghosts.
The trash collector moves. Hydra armed noise muffles high banshee wailing, sweetly symphonic though lacking the mercy of a lethal kill. She stays alone, woefully unprepared, more so as the gray matter dwindles. Or is she?
I light a candle and make jokes to see her radiant smile.
Thirteen swans draped with dawn, V their way South.