every breath a bead in an endless strand
"I'm not sure about all this, but I'm starting to get the hang of it."
August Mary Oliver When the blackberries hang...
How am I going to end this with him. She felt her ...
Fabled by the daughters of memory... Finnegans Web...
The Second Coming (1921) - by W.B. Yeats (1865 - 1...
DON'T THINK TWICE, IT'S ALL RIGHT (Words and Music...
Becoming in Black (after Ghalib) by William Dennis...
nothingsweet empty skynot a care in the worlda dee...
Terzanelle of Kosovo FieldsRichard JacksonJune 200...
concreteplain gray highwaywoven across the landiri...
Sojourns in the Parallel World
We live our lives of human passions,
cruelties, dreams, concepts,
crimes and the exercise of virtue
in and beside a world devoid
of our preoccupations, free
from apprehension - though affected,
certainly, by our actions. A world
parallel to our own though overlapping.
We call it Nature; only reluctantly
admitting ourselves to be Nature too.
Whenever we lose track of our own obsessions,
our self-concerns, because we drift for a minute,
an hour even, of pure (almost pure)
response to that insouciant life:
cloud, bird, fox, the flow of light, the dancing
pilgrimage of water, vast stillness
of spellbound ephemerae on a lit windowpane,
animal voices, mineral hum, wind
conversing with rain, ocean with rock, stuttering
of fire to coal - then something tethered
in us, hobbled like a donkey on its patch
of gnawed grass and thistles, breaks free.
No one discovers
just where we've been, when we're caught up again
into our own sphere (where we must
return, indeed, to evolve our destinies)
- but we have changed, a little.
- Denise Levertov
Viawhiskey river