Shoreline
The moonlight, and our boat — don’t they make a lovely pair? Their faded paint, and silver hair? O dear one — how long have we — been sitting here? [ 720 ]
Archive for April 2020
A Mighty Wind Is
Yesterday evening, I learned something: to finish reading The Letters of Henry Adams is to want to read his books all over again; and it is to want to read the lives and letters of his friends. April 7, 2020 A Mighty Wind Is A mighty wind is thrashing the firs. Yesterday, the crows were busy gathering wood for their nests. When the wind dies down, they will resume. […]
x Frames
When I see birds chase each other through the maze of the budding fig tree without so much as touching a twig, I realize how quickly they must be processing the visual information given them by their eyes. If I view the scene at x frames per second, they must be viewing it at x frames a great many times over; it is this, perhaps, that makes them wise. Perhaps, […]
One More Cherry Blossom Poem
Death, or politics? Politics have neither death’s dignity nor purpose; and they lack death’s sublime, optimistic future; for after death, that which is once said to have been living, goes on living in myriad forms and ways; whereas politics are an accumulation of toxic waste matter that is dangerous to all living things. That politics often cause death, is reason enough to set them aside. Why sacrifice my precious energy […]
Moved
The breeze — her hair — held pink-white snow. She knew her lines and said them well. Now her leaves hide not her nakedness. And she — so kind — that I — should know. April 4, 2020 [ 716 ]
Summary
To write my whole life and discover I am not the library, Or even the book, but the bookmark, And then to feel your breath, your fingertips, your hand. [ 715 ]
Vincent to Theo, Letter 133, July 1880
. . . What shall I say? Do our inner thoughts ever show outwardly? There may be a great fire in our soul, yet no one ever comes to warm himself at it, and the passers-by see only a wisp of smoke coming through the chimney, and go along their way . . . Primitive, Pencil on Index Card, 2009 Even at this distance / how we are alone / […]
Someone
When the morning sun reveals every grain of dust on my desk, and papers, and books, I see oxen and stars. Random Note, April 1, 2010 Someone Someone sewing masks. Someone dropping bombs. Someone preaching hatred. Someone washing hands. Someone lights a candle. Someone whispers love. [ 713 ]
Vigil
A day for tea. Not one cup, or two, but three. A trinity. Prophecy? Too, it well may be. An acute form of language, Or memory. Imagined, or worse. A blessing, a curse. A death, a truth, a fiction. A doorway. A wise oak. Surrender. Confession. Birth. March 31, 2020 [ 712 ]
Song as Summons
I wonder how old I was when the idea first reached me that our departed loved ones might still be near and looking on. I don’t remember having thought of it myself, or it ever being suggested by my parents. I might have read it somewhere. I did a lot of reading in my youth. I find the idea poetically appealing, but I’ve never thought of it as either definitely […]
William Michaelian 