Tuesday, August 03, 2010

Nothing happening that has not happened

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All nature helps to swell the song and chant the same refrain;
July and June have slipped away and August’s here again.
~Helen Maria Winslow (1851–1938)


August Here Again

and an early fog rolls it over like an underslept log.
I listen for the usual meadow murmur: this sounding
that; that calling out this. Nothing happening that
has not happened in fifty-eight previous Augusts.

I might paint today, or strum strings to break it up.
If I walk out now, I can stand unseen in the middle
of that meadow and let it all swathe me in nowness
for that is the only different thing about this August.

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It arrives to arrive, promising nothing, expecting less
than that. You may meet a woman who excites your
body, but leaves you lacking in the seat of your soul.
You might think this would be enough, but you know
the truth of it, that a seabound river has far wiser plans.

Now the meadow is lifting off, crust and earth tearing
away from the underground scattering gophers, quail.
I watch it hover, bleed roots and worms, as if this
happens every day. Slowly it disappears into gray
and I am left to fill the hollow mercy of this hole.

Joseph Gallo
August 3, 2010


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