I don’t care, and I don’t have a mind complicated enough to think that what I care about matters. That is the surrender required. Could you have an argument with the weather that matters or changes anything? “This year there have been too many clouds. We were robbed of a summer.” Who’s doing the robbing? …
To see clearly. And to know your own story of love. However improbable that could be. To notice what you missed 10,000 times. The kestrel that dropped from above, wings rotating backward, like a man treading water. Pouncing on another bird in the groundcover below. Wings sprawled out awkwardly on morning glory vines and whatever …
Who knows what they’ve been named, but the way they jump through the bush and clean it of berries is sublime. Whistles and a chatter like ladies in a street market. Songs of gathering. Light chests. Brown wings. Tiny nail-clipper beaks. In as a team. Out as a victory. Mostly unknown, like a cloud that …
If there’s no more wonder, then there are no more poems. And what is wonder but a simple curiosity? With a splash of something else that makes the curiosity animated. That splash could be a belief in meaning. But if no belief is true and meaning a farce, then wonder is a trick of the …
She said, “The age of ambition is coming to a close.” For her, it might be the end of wanting a baby. The end of wanting marriage. The end of wanting a traditional story. But if ambition for an age as grand as Pisces were ending, that would be something else. As if armies of …
