Wednesday, January 30, 2019

Wiping the Dust Off

How can I panic on days like this?
My cheek still feels the cool granite of her headstone.
I’m more than a thousand miles away now,
but the roughness of its sides,
the smoothness of its face ...

Space is freedom, but only between one’s ears,
and only if one wills it with everything one has.
For a very long time I didn’t have that strength.

The wind is gusting today.
It’s warm, and the turning trees are grateful.
Dead leaves, like tiny shattered rainbows, swirl by,
and the dust devils spin and dissipate like lovers
blowing a kiss.

What is age if it isn’t met with fortitude and courage?
One day is like another is like another—even when they are not.
There is a comforting blanket—a numbness—that tries to make them so.
At night I sleep; in the morning I wake.
I wipe the dust off and wish it well.

The roughness of its sides,
the smoothness of its face ...

Deep within the Avenue of the Gods, northern California

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