Sameness

Every morning I open the door to let the dog out,
I grind the beans
Conscious, sweet routine
But this morning, again,
it is snowing
misty waterfall of cold droplets coalesced and painted white,
snow lining the branches,
spotlighting winter's design of the world
and the road a spurious track

Sunday morning on a binary date
the same sweetness, the same pain
Silence is a thrum in my ears
the shadow of a pen, moving,
lying in bed, crouched in the sand, in the pine forest
where I lay the blanket, longing,
where I photographed the shadow
in the summer sun

Goethe's Warning

Hell begins the day that God grants you the vision to see all that you could have done, should have done, and would have done, but did not do.
—Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)

Goethe obviously speaks to me; I had this quote written on a chalkboard in my kitchen for years, and, though now erased, its ghostly image is still readable:
Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.


So now what ??

Flying Solo

Flying Solo

That morning I watched the sunrise at Charles de Gaulle I was washed of love, as singed at the edges as the yellow-centered ball of light that rose slowly above the glass skyway,
bright as the gold leaf of Jesus’s heart in the Sacre Coeur that began to beam as I prayed, pulsing into life,
everything contained within the hushed echoing curved stone of the chapel,
everything

And then the sun faded to the pale light of a bland blue day
observed outside of the cask of the airport
and, hunkered down for hours in my hard-shell corner chair,
I was encompassed by the grandmothers, aunts and old men, sullen teenagers and crawling diapered babies of an extended family, chests and luggage all plastered with International Organization of Migration stickers, in their hodgepodge colorful clothes embarking resignedly on a new life

Suzanne Vega, "Small Blue Thing"

Today I am
A small blue thing
Like a marble
Or an eye

With my knees against my mouth
I am perfectly round
I am watching you

I am cold against your skin
You are perfectly reflected
I am lost inside your pocket
I am lost against
Your fingers

I am falling down the stairs
I am skipping on the sidewalk
I am thrown against the sky

I am raining down in pieces
I am scattering like light
Scattering like light
Scattering like light

Today I am
A small blue thing
Made of china
Made of glass

I am cool and smooth and curious
I never blink
I am turning in your hand
Turning in your hand
Small blue thing

There's a little black spot on the sun today
that's my soul up there

Selected Lyrics from the Police

From "King of Pain"

There's a little black spot on the sun today
That's my soul up there
It's the same old thing as yesterday
Tha's my soul up there
There's a black hat caught in a high tree top
That's my soul up there
There's a flag pole rag and the wind won't stop
That's my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a fossil that's trapped in a high cliff wall
That's my soul up there
There's a dead salmon frozen in a waterfall
That's my soul up there
There's a blue whale beached by a springtide's ebb
That's my soul up there
There's a butterfly trapped in a spider's web
That's my soul up there

I have stood here before inside the pouring rain
With the world turning circles running 'round my brain
I guess I'm always hoping that you'll end this reign
But it's my destiny to be the king of pain

There's a king on a throne with his eyes torn out
There's a blind man looking for a shadow of doubt
Ther's a rich man sleeping on a golden bed
There's a skeleton choking on a crust of bread
King of pain

There's a red fox thorn by a huntsman's pack
That's my soul up there
There's a black winged gull with a broken back
That's my soul up there
There's a little black spot on the sun today
It's the same old thing as yesterday

Gardiner's Bay, New Year's Day

Gardiner's Bay, New Year's Day 2010

A partly unfurled confetti curl in the sand,
party colors in the dun
of winter, of early dark,
the failure to rise to a challenge

Breathing air off the cold deep bay
where a piece of saturated wood
seeps closer to bottom,
part of summer's ambition

Closing the pale yellow curtain
against weak midday light
its blowsy roses
taupe and scentless
I daylight-slept
one paw of the dog in my hand