a holy day among holy days
(oh may all our days be holy)
i slept so late
that the eye of the sun
had already risen above the house on the hill
when i woke
all night the wing sang between the buildings
whistled, howled, and ran
in the streets
today the sky is periwinkle above the mountain
and the air is so clean the brightness is a pleasure
that almost hurts
an aching friend graced my couch.
neither of us had brushed our hair.
what can we say? what can we ever say
that will truly comfort another, turn the mindmoment
to the exquisite clarity that even in pain is so beautiful
just now the chicken farmer said this:
"These are words, and I still don't know what anything means. I mean, there are eggs, and there are all the words we use to describe an egg. Like egg."
today i have said love, and have had love said to me
already many times. it isn’t even noon, and love
meant something different every time.