A very warm afternoon, outside and in. It seems logical, natural, inevitable, that, as I age, I am moving steadily, inexorably, towards silence. The season holds sway, but the conclusion is the same any time of year. Towards word silence; journal silence; poem silence; grave silence. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; silence to silence. Emerged from silence, proceeding unto silence; never having left silence, forever part of silence. Loving silence; being loved by silence, cradled in her arms.
Bees in the clover; the lobelia trembling under their momentary weight; the sunflowers’ siren song.
Concern for those whose health and lives are in the balance. And yet, is this not everyone?
July 29, 2021. Late in the day.
1 And for those dreams that come and go
without our knowing,
2 we receive the world in their stead.
Recently Banned Literature, February 19, 2011
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