In a single life, we change rooms so many times. Enter and leave, pass through, refuse to enter, refuse to leave. Each time we believe it won’t follow us and each time it does. We never know this until we arrive at the last room we will ever enter which is also the last room we ever leave.
We lie swathed in the sticky veil of a million laments. Regret sits on the nightstand like a glass of white wine we knock over again and again, apologizing each time as if we were an unwelcome guest at an overcrowded table of strangers. Howlong has this faint music been playing, we wonder.
As breathing is the grand baton that conducts the sweeping movements of a life, so is the ceasing of it the last beat that cues an adagio of stillness. Even absence holds music. And so we listen for it; pace the windows to see if it disturbs the nearest palm or waves back from a green flush of frond.
In one measure, we score so many arias. Bow and blow, finger and finesse, pause and hold, cease and rest. Each time we believe it is the most perfect music we have ever heard and each time we are both right and wrong. Faintly, it swells to return again. We knock over the glass, enter the room and leave.
wings up and all the doors removed from their hinges. No one asks how we got such sturdy legs even as cane futures tick upward.
The things we know harden and glaze as the will to discover what worries the curtain softens to stain as bath suds. Hips clack with the hitch in our walk as the prosthetic soul we claim as our own will not survive another washing.
We enter this world to gain and lose everything, just as every other thing does. The harried crow will not feast on robin’s eggs this morning as we will later lie, our burdens laid out on the pillow beside us, when the sun runs nails- out down a hurt wall of dusk unable to hang on one moment longer.
Just once to arrive without the rain asking anything of us. To leave a print of sand that might run off back to an old sea that left it im- precise so long ago, its wet window vexed and ajar, exactly the way we came in.
What better sound is there than the scent of rain on wood? May’s green-grey sky, wobbly as a gathering colt, freshens to drop its tearcatcher in a dry field as quail hide and let sigh. Who among us cannot remember uncounted days like these?
This is an old dance, made of steps that tilted their turns long before days had names and names had tongues to tell of them. If we could walk side by side, you might say this is the season that never considers it prudent to stop.
Bees charge their bands by pulse and flock, circle their singular initials in the midpetals, leave trace and taste to speak hosannas for the hive, press the sun to settle undue accounts in pollinated margins of endearing dusk.
If we could sit side by side, I might say nothing at all and brush my hand across the lattice of your bare shoulders, place kisses there to simmer saltless on sungold skin, caress and seal in what comes to pass long before we wish it to.
wisdom is worth all we lose to attain it. ~aucassin verdé
i wonder if the artist ever lives his life-—he is so busy recreating it. only as i write do i realize myself. i don't know what that does to life. ~anne sexton
you must acquire the trick of ignoring those who do not like you. in my experience, those who do not like you fall into two categories: the stupid and the envious. the stupid will like you in five years time. the envious, never.~john wilmot, 2nd earl of rochester
art arises when the secret vision of the artist and the manifestation of nature agree to find new shapes. ~kahlil gibran
creativity is allowing yourself to make mistakes. art is knowing which ones to keep. ~scott adams
those who don't know how to weep with their whole heart, don't know how to laugh either. ~golda meir
i said to my soul, be still,
and wait without hope,
for hope would be hope
for the wrong thing.
wait without love,
for love would be love
of the wrong thing.
there is yet faith;
but the faith and the love
and the hope are all
in the waiting.
wait without thought,
for you are not ready for thought.
so the darkness shall be the light,
and the stillness the dancing.