o the snow & other things.

 

 

i tossed a small savory fruit into the snow outside, watched it roll a few inches, & nestle into the cozy resting place of its fate. i suppose fruit experienced that as a sort of falling, but it skimmed the snow so beautifully, & a little celebration of snow rose up as snuggled down into its grave.

tonight we expect, together, the maw of the bear.

the mother bear. resurrection.

boss is leaving for warmer climes for some long winter weeks. i have moved a few belongings from a few towns away, & here i am.. also, ensconced. it will be a quiet few weeks.

the kitchen tap is too hot, but the shower-head rains chilly water. at night i will visit empty rooms to check for squirrels with suitcases & skeleton keys, and i may shower in one of those ghostly moonlit showers. hot water is the foremost blessing of civilization. i love cold rooms but a hot shower is strangely wonderful. i suppose it is one of the seductive lies that keeps us tamed – weak & dull-witted! how evil a luxury . .

.

— secured between the three of us. there are bountiful provisions & a few small gifts. we are poorer than ever before. he wants to visit firenzi in the spring. we know a man who lived off busking in Amsterdam.

my mother will not speak the cats name. she refers to her as the little one, and will not look at the spot where she would keep her green-eyed vigil at night. we will visit her resting place tomorrow. it has a night lamp.

.

there are construction men on the roof! no one told me about this development. i gave them a start by demanding their company name. it was really a christmas spectacle.

ii am reading online about a flat ship built on the thames in our ancestors times.

.

.

it was like the sun raining away. in black tears.

– i have not grown back my limbs. but my bandages are fresh today –

is there even time? examine the question. what am i, to recover life on this earth? an archeologist of my own devoured heart?

here is a customary sorrow, a mite less the crying.

if i never hear your voice again in this lifetime, i am more blessed than i even suppose. still i hesitate.

what a beast of fixed dark, unknown to me, winged itself oer my life when i first heard of you – & laid eyes on the typed character of your name.

as it happened, i & my tears were the punchline of a weary old tale.
.

.

.

.

madge was such a beauty in this era.