Message on a Rockport Sunday

Dancing dangerously
Quicksilver in my cupped hands

Morning Threshold

Night stories clogged my sleep, boiling the issues of the day into asure - Turkish pudding made with kitchen salvage - wheat, rice, beans, dried fruits, nuts, chickpeas. The sticky mix obscured time; clung to and stuck fast my eyelids; denied awakening. The sweetness of the mixture though cloying, heavy in my head, must have been tasty to my furry girl, as she licked my lids open, kissing me into daytime and the liberation of reality.

Gift 1

Love has befriended me so completely
It has turned to ash and freed me
Of every concept and image
My mind has ever known.

Hafiz  
excerpt from "I have Learned So Much" in The Gift

 

 

Taking flight

BIRD It was passed from one bird to another, the whole gift of the day. The day went from flute to flute, went dressed in vegetation, in flights which opened a tunnel through the wind would pass to where birds were breaking open the dense blue air - and there, night came in. When I returned from so many journeys, I stayed suspended and green between sun and geography - I saw how wings worked, how perfumes are transmitted by feathery telegraph, and from above I saw the path, the springs and the roof tiles, the fishermen at their trades, the trousers of the foam; I saw it all from my green sky. I had no more alphabet than the swallows in their courses, the tiny, shining water of the small bird on fire which dances out of the pollen. Pablo Neruda