As Trojan horse
Wolf in sheep’s clothing
A mirage enticing me to drink…
And just as I reach down and begin lapping up that precious liquid, i am jolted back to reality,
the grit now between my teeth,
my mouth now further parchedin seeming unquenchable fits of longing, shame and disillusion
Another kind of mirage
I realize now how quickly entered into on all occasions of my meeting with this (Love). Never time for circling, for that animal dance before rushing in, the courtship of somewhat violent mating—we humans are not so above the bully* creatures of the plains as we think.
Without the circling, the courtship, we catapult….
I must to let go of this desire for (partnership) in order to come to know more fully,to know without naming, to have lovers,to last.
*ORIGIN mid 16th cent.: probably from Middle Dutch boele ‘lover.’ The original usage was as a term of endearment applied to either sex; later becoming a familiar form of address to a male friend. The current sense dates from the late 17th cent.
To reclaim what’s been abandoned
The long pause
To practice abandonment
Of any past self
Of groping in darkness
And be abandoned
With each missive sealed and sent.
we are just starting.
smoke from the pistol still caught up in our nostrils,
still hanging as a figure dancing in the air.
we are just starting…
and it seems a race without a destination
just a run, really,
just a sail,
just a constant lapping of some air,
earth, or water at the sides of our bodies,
being taken up into our beings.
being breathed back out as we soar.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other. /There is no loneliness like theirs. /At home once more, they begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness. /I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms, /For she has walked over to me /And nuzzled my left hand. /She is black and white, /Her mane falls wild on her forehead, /And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear /That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist. /Suddenly I realize /That if I stepped out of my body I would break /Into blossom.” —HUB 154:
A BLESSING by James Wright, a gift out of new correspondence, new connection. Certain joy.
I think I will keep this hour (or was it hours) for myself.