--- R U T H D A I G O N
It is enough to lean against the fabric of your flesh. It is enough to lie in the domestic morning. It is enough to watch light expand through windows rising and falling between our bodies on this bed, this room this continent. We grow wise watching leaky faucets, faded wallpaper, mismatched socks. The coffee boiling on the stove prepares us for the network news, shopping malls, miracle cures and tomorrow always sitting on our bed. But in this rush of years, we have not lost the pure imagined past, the here-it-is, the pitch, the pinnacle of time shining from within a million summers or the music so intense it disappears. We invent a lifetime out of small things, free the air between our fingers, diagram the stars, dream them into daylight and admit the future which is here, always here like a clock that runs forever.
© crossconnect, inc 1995-2004
published in association with the |
university of pennsylvania's kelly writers house |