BLACK CLOUDS ROLLED in with strong wind. Then came rain and cool air. Now mist moves over a bright moon. The Mt. Laurel's blue blossoms spread and redbud limbs burst with tiny pink buds. Rita plays with Keaton. The earth-bound babe holds tight in its black room, moist inside the sound drum of Hoa's broadened middle. There's much to learn about this stone coming out of the dark. A new beginning in greater darkness. Our expectations are left behind. There's an unfolding before us. Open these new doors making way out again. Lawrence rants against Poe's love. Looks instead to the holy ghost that dwells within. But the holy ghost is many, all the gods inside a self. And Poe's mutable forms show something of nature's ex-stasis, that merging and emerging luminosity against a greater night. Dig a hole. Crawl into the moist soil to find out what it's like reborn to a new world. Now K nurses and Hoa reads. The cat wants out into the moist glistening evening. Take pen. Lift flowers. Fix the car windows. Look outside, my face reflected by the lamp in the window.
Posted by Dale at April 28, 2004 05:28 AM