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rejectomorph

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Mooning [May. 3rd, 2015|09:03 pm]
rejectomorph
The official moment of the moon's fullness does not come until after midnight, but my sight is not fine enough to tell if the rising light is perfectly round or not. It's surely round enough for me. In the view from my back yard there is one small spot where the moon escapes a calligraphic tracery of oak twigs just before silhouetting a clump of pine needles. That is the last unobstructed view of it I'll get for hours, when it finally sails free of the freshly leafed walnut tree. I might be asleep by then, so I watched it through that brief clearing and listened to the crickets chirp.

I wonder if the crickets enjoy the bright nights, or fear them? It seems the light would make it easier for predators to see them, but maybe the insects are unaware of the heightened danger. Lovely things can have that effect. But perhaps the best time to be devoured is when one is rapt. Maybe that's the ancient wisdom the word carries. Maybe the idea of the word is like a hunting night bird, wings flashing moonlight as it lifts its prey into the sky. Watching the moon rise, all I can think of is how splendid it is, and I don't notice until later that the rhythmic chirping of the crickets is like the ticking of clocks.




Sunday Verse



True Ways of Knowing


by Norman MacCaig


Not an ounce excessive, not an inch too little,
Our easy reciprocations. You let me know
The way a boat would feel, if it could feel,
The intimate support of water.

The news you bring me has been news forever,
So that I understand what a stone would say
If only a stone could speak. Is it sad a grassblade
Can't know how it is lovely?

Is it sad that you can't know, except by hearsay
(My gossiping failing words) that you are the way
A water is that can clench its palm and crumple
A boat's confiding timbers?

But that's excessive, and too little. Knowing
The way a circle would describe its roundness,
We touch two selves and feel, complete and gentle,
The intimate support of being.

The way that flight would feel a bird flying
(If it could feel) is the way a space that's in
A stone that's in water would know itself
If it had our way of knowing.

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