I have not wanted to write much after my friend's death. Let me be honest, I have not wanted to think much. And I believe that's as it should be. Lord knows, the brain takes years to recover and heal and I imagine the soul does, too. But, I miss the magic I found in words. The unexpected placements and pairings. The rhythm of syllables. So, for me, 2013 will be a year of opening doors and telling the tales of what I find.
Our squirrel's nest squirms
beneath a winter's wind.
...Maybe...or I could watch Big Bang Theory marathons...Bazinga!
The Frogs After Dark
by Robert Bly
I am so much in love with mournful music
That I don't bother to look for violinists.
The aging peepers satisfy me for hours.
The ant moves on his tiny Sephardic feet.
The flute is always glad to repeat the same note.
The ocean rejoices in its dusky mansion.
Bears are often piled up close to each other.
In caves of bears, it's just one hump
After another, and there is no one to sort it out.
You and I have spent so many hours working.
We have paid dearly for the life we have.
It's all right if we do nothing tonight.
We've heard the fiddlers tuning their old fiddles,
And the singer urging the low notes to come.
We've heard her trying to keep the dawn from breaking.
There is some slowness in life that is right for us.
But we love to remember the way the soul leaps
Over and over into the lonely heavens.