“The boat’s slow progress through the night was like the passage of a coherent thought through the subconscious.” — Joseph Brodsky
& you were with me
strong evanescent
looming up from dreamplay
with solid destination
nesting sable in your gaze
As a blue-fire sun came up over the sea, milky and iridescent, there was no sound, there were no motorized noises, the world was sleeping and nothing moved but the water and the sun. The time was not important, but the thick of atmosphere and the damp of unknowing was. Jitters at the cold of morning. Trembling at what could not be said. Lydia moved to make something fluid of her anxiety. Always.
She wanted to be known as someone who knew herself well and was comfortable with that, because she did and she was, but she was never comfortable with the capacity of other people to see these aspects of herself clearly. Too much at stake, she would say. One came to think: too much at stake to take a chance on being misunderstood. But why? Why at every moment was so much at stake? I loved this way of concentrating universal truths and global risk into the idea of what another might hear.
elindulnék :: Intense heat, the suffocation of the great metropolis that stingily carries on not recognizing that it was made by human hands and minds for the benefit of human beings in their endless daily slog…
tiresome, choking, trellised, the city-creature, the layered amplitude, the hard grace and threadbare unbecoming, the will at odds with its own purpose…
I want wholeness amid the grey and acquiescent stupor, I want rhythm amid the fine-boned dissonance, a special coven of mind-meld and revelers, and the agility and courage to make sense of things…
but time runs out, it disappears into the gloom and is scarce remembered as what it was, a cool rapid current of trilling waters, trailing over the edge of things, and never stopping to be taken, held or tasted…
The Poet Economist 