rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


The daylight that got saved was bright and full of birds. Spring might be here to stay. I hung the laundry on the line in the back yard again, the dryer still being out of commission, and I watched the white dish towels dance with the sunlight in the afternoon breezes. The abundant birds were kind and left no mark on the laundry.

The air was not yet warm enough to make the shade pleasant, but within days it will be. For now I keep the furnace low and pretend that sultry days are already here and that the 68 degree temperature in the house is an extravagant indulgence in air conditioning instead of parsimoniousness with the heat. The bright sunlight let me fool myself, but nightfall returned my thoughts to the lingering evening chill of March.

Right here on the edge.

Sunday Verse

Love Calls Us to the Things of This World

by Richard Wilbur

The eyes open to a cry of pulleys,
  And spirited from sleep, the astounded soul
Hangs for a moment bodiless and simple
As false dawn.
        Outside the open window
The morning air is all awash with angels.

  Some are in bed-sheets, some are in blouses,
Some are in smocks: but truly there they are.
Now they are rising together in calm swells
Of halcyon feeling, filling whatever they wear
With the deep joy of their impersonal breathing;

  Now they are flying in place, conveying
The terrible speed of their omnipresence, moving
And staying like white water; and now of a sudden
They swoon down into so rapt a quiet
That nobody seems to be there.
           The soul shrinks

  From all that is about to remember,
From the punctual rape of every blessed day,
And cries, 
       "Oh, let there be nothing on earth but laundry,
Nothing but rosy hands in the rising steam
And clear dances done in the sight of heaven."

Yet, as the sun acknowledges
With a warm look the world's hunks and colors,
The soul descends once more in bitter love
To accept the waking body, saying now
In a changed voice as the man yawns and rises,

  "Bring them down from their ruddy gallows;
Let there be clean linen for the backs of thieves;
Let lovers go fresh and sweet to be undone,
And the heaviest nuns walk in a pure floating
Of dark habits,
       keeping their difficult balance."


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