Up at three-thirty, for no particular reason, other than, like an oft-reheated meal, the sleeper was done, and then some. But the night joys are great ones, with dawn coming on. Dawn, the grand assumption.
It is a cricket-morning, the first of the late-summer, early-fall season. Crickets cast no votes. They do not need mail boxes or polling places. They have no gerrymandered districts. They have rhythm and purpose. They bequeath sanity to the world. Maybe this is why, when they overstep their bounds, they are given the heel and the broom, and are treated like a universal conscience.
August 16, 2020
And Meet Here an Angel
We return to the well, and meet here an angel,
Filling the jars of all who come.
Some leave with water, some with earth, some with sorrow,
Each, in turn, a great measure of love.
And some remain, trembling,
The light strikes them so.
These receive dawn.
Recently Banned Literature, February 8, 2018
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