Saturday, December 10, 2011

Look Away

10 December 2011

The pot boils,
the flower blooms,
the writing fades,
the light glooms.

We watch without blinking,
eyes watering, winking--
still, the child grows,
flourishes, goes
when we look away.

Monday, December 05, 2011


5 December 2011

A barely visible cross-hatch of history
lies below my eyes;
a topographical diary of thirty-five years’
experience, foul and fair, each impression
faintly faded as a fabric’s fold
that will never lay flat
no matter how hot the iron,
no matter how hard the press.

Sunday, December 04, 2011

For a Time

4 December 2011

I have learned there’s a treatment
to amputate whatever
silence cannot be tolerated,
whatever noise needs hushed.
Extremities are a nuisance, even when
Nature herself dictates that I receive
the gift of acute feeling
for a time. To numb is the norm;
Experience has become
a choice against the grain--
to dive in, to know, to stay sane
amidst the chaos.

George MacDonald

"Home is ever so far away in the palm of your hand, and how to get there it is of no use to tell you. But you will get there; you must get there; you have to get there. Everybody who is not at home, has to go home."

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