o this.

o its upon us, june.

.. this october has come and gone quick, and the rest of the news – I recite it but soundlessly.

do not appeal to the old tender ear, that is dead of want of news.

this october has witnessed something like a return of health. i’ve walked my poor heart around the block at a rapid click while it protested & ii said sorry heart sorry. this is not then. this is a labour and a work for you, for your maintenance and mine. so keep up your work~ & cease that business of protest, old heart.

the leaves have returned some as well. the world returns precariously to the dead. small jewels of bees and clover are disordered underfoot. ten years or twenty has passed in hard despair, hypnotic strange passages of confinement and grief. the only relief was a cruel disorder of thoughts. and forgetting. let us not welcome the seasons, I said. let us unsee these cruel days as they pass untouched. not seasons and years but whole decades can pass unlived, the will broke like the delicate spine of a pale beast, all its meat life dust, the tufted coat, the veins of blood & lungs of breath all dissolved aloft in the air – and just those cracked jewels of bones attest to the low trouble that ended it all.

have the tears shed? have we bled this pain? no. we were heated thru pain to sterility.
some go & take the songs, the music. some take sleep. others take the ground underfoot. some take the eyes that see, and the little gift of listening to what is said, and then the voice is taken. the fingers are taken, and the embraces. when it is taken, do they keep it? heh. no.

M, she is reading ecclesiastes. I wrote a long chapter and let it be. go words, dissolve on air.

it is hard to see them take up their arms against time. I cant consent to any peace about her suffering now. we pretend. it is good to have refuge in those old human places. I don’t want to her to suffer needlessly. but the fact is – we all silently look on while a life struggles at this impasse and impossibility. the book is no replacement for human tenderness. it is not right, how we let this be. my hands fall.

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