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Under the daily detrition of our calm lie shadows, and within those shadows is the essence of our recovery. Flux is the richness of things, and the outermost planets alive in our personal space may collide often, but the integrity wielded by their touch remains ours, and the jagged guesstimates we make will never pierce our peace. Submission each evening, routinely decorous to the TV, or even to each other’s bodies, is to eschew shadows to ease our guts away from the perplexity that gives wauling sense to each atom of life as it’s born, for us to care for perhaps solemnly, perhaps lightly, but always it’s the concave watersheds they bring that our eyes grasp, and sometimes hold. |
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