"running thru matt and lucy's land"

What i think i feel now, by it's own nature
Remains beyond my poor power to say outright,
Short of grasping the naked current where it
Flows through field and book, dog howling, the firelit
Glances, the caresses, whatever draws us
To, and insulates us from, the absolute—
The absolute which wonderfully, this slow
December noon of clear blue time zones flown through
Towards relatives and friends, more and more sounds like
The kind of pear-bellied early instrument
Skills all but lost are wanted, or the phoenix
Quill of passion, to pluck a minor scale from
And to let the silence after each note sing.

James Merrill The Book of Ephraim

and with that little bit of nuance, whereupon both reach for cigarettes, (really? there's so much in the opening pages, but not much that really gets me like that stanza does), i'm going to go run in the park. because it's gorgeous here. and i'm alive! "There are degrees of radicality at borders; some you can cross, some you can't. The uncertainty is what makes them interesting. Is what makes them borders. A page has a size. A self has flesh. Defy this; if language goes beyond reality, go there too. Of course there is danger. Anyone who slipped would find themself impaled. Foucault talks about a flash of lightning that harrows the night, a violence that leaps at its own core. You kiss my eye. You cross me. Here is the speechless place. Beget what we are." Anne Carson.

better than emerson's apple, this one. and familiar.

the world was BANANAS with color, flowers, puppies and blue skies this weekend, and i'm going to catch the rest of the sun. xoxo