Apr 2018
i saw your note: “the
summation of your tears
infinitely converges”—
then breathlessness as you
paused
—and upon
the water, a heron stirred,
pensive;
the reeds bowed to the northern sky—
“converging, converging”: the mad,
scrawled words, the scribbled midnight
lament; you hid your heart in a pocketbook, pages
folded and layered.
did you feel the reeds yield to
that northern horizon? did you feel that pensive,
infinite heron? she stirred, scattering your
words in the early summer breeze.
summation of your tears
infinitely converges”—
then breathlessness as you
paused
—and upon
the water, a heron stirred,
pensive;
the reeds bowed to the northern sky—
“converging, converging”: the mad,
scrawled words, the scribbled midnight
lament; you hid your heart in a pocketbook, pages
folded and layered.
did you feel the reeds yield to
that northern horizon? did you feel that pensive,
infinite heron? she stirred, scattering your
words in the early summer breeze.
mckenna: you told me once that you forgot how to feel—
i've forgotten too. we've all forgotten, a long, long time ago. to write is to hear echoes of an era long past; to write is to swim in the currents of forgetting.
so write, mckenna. scatter those words to the horizons.
i've forgotten too. we've all forgotten, a long, long time ago. to write is to hear echoes of an era long past; to write is to swim in the currents of forgetting.
so write, mckenna. scatter those words to the horizons.
