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I enjoy these moments too little, I’m too much an albatross in flight. In the run-down black hills it pays to give twice as often as you blink and age. You perceive a mountain that really is more of a beach, or even that pale blue star that was caught in rock and labeled so unmercifully its endlessness was enclosed by the sky / the jumbled, changing ocean (yes, I too dis- like aimless conversation except where it is between God and a connoisseur of time. Darling, your shell under our Christmas tree speaks of an exchange: star for star / fish for fish and all the while the curb on the sea / sky / loving intent is a dream-like gnawing at grace. |
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