***

Hard times.

***

God, have mercy on us.

***

Hard to remember, hard to forget.



 

***

Forgot my handbag in my dream. I'll have to get back to fetch it.



July 28, 2012

Saturday Evening Walk (Memories of Heaven)

The wallpapered birch trees 
with their peeling dresses,
the ones that look like 
the exquisite garments 
of the Santos dolls, 
clothed by a local paper artist,

the church bells three avenues down 
the grassy, 
hyacinth hill,

"Dinner is served", 
a man's voice bellows
from the inside of a house,
children slide down the steep front lawn
rolled 
in an old carped 
like a laughing burrito,
and later on -
a boy learning to balance 
on a tight rope 
stretched 
between two sycamore trees.
I think about how 
a tree learns to keep its balance 
so perfectly,
never tempted 
to lean 
over the abyss.

"Gravity holds everything 
in place, only man 
pushes out beyond what 
he belongs to" *

Once upon a time
I, too, belonged
to this earth, to this world
as the sycamore tree
walking the tight rope
of its dream
silently,
contently,
in perfect balance.



April, 2012

------------------------------------------------------------------------
* Rilke, Book of Hours

Things-in-themselves

It's a beautiful, understandable world - all things small connected through the letters they send to the senses. That's what I gathered today - the smell of a rose is a poem she writes in the book of the days. It's her essence, the fragrant transcription of her soul, the way she would like to be understood, to be remembered.