Scabs – knitting and stitching.

The light is beautiful, yet I cannot see it.

My brows are knit into a familiar pattern.

How can the pendulum swing so far?  Can it be trusted to swing back? What of this hope of trust – is it not anything more than a desire to feel some semblance of control in a sea of chaos.  ‘Can I trust the pendulum to swing?’ could be restated as ‘I need to trust the pendulum to swing.’

“The Angels Gabriel and Uriel looked out from the gates of Heaven, with their eyes of wombs and seawater.”   I wrote this twenty years ago and it comes back to me this afternoon.

I hear voices carry hundreds of yards across fields that hold the sprouts of perennial renewal.

It does not take much to upset the spine, for it is the spine upon which we task the weight of our concerns, the weight of our years, the weight of our longings and the strain of all our efforts to cope with these, to reach for these, to hold onto these things which we bestow with meaning, purpose, value…

I wrote awhile back about geography and the dreams of my mother.

I spent the morning cutting brush with a handsaw and a bow saw (my chainsaw wouldn’t start)  Herein lies the legacy of my father.  A simple desire to be with the smell of sawdust, the heft of logs. The simple honesty of working away at firewood.   I am with him and he with me each moment I do this.

I miss them both terribly and it has been so long since I have been with them.  I wish that they were here to know my life.  To see my girls, my wife.  I wish I could visit them.  I wish I could simply walk into ‘the house’ with my family and have coffee and stay for a while.

I wish I could spoil them for a turn – take them places, do things with them.

The years go by and my life plays out in the east.  Yet, I am of the west and I do not enjoy the simple act of communion with all the familiar things that I am of, for they are several thousand miles away.

Eyes of wombs and seawater?

Salt, strain, possibility, longing.

I do not know how to be poetic – merely to imitate.

My dog is loyal.

I will tell a secret.    It is this.

There are times when I look into the eyes of my dog and see my mother looking back at me.

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