rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Sunday, Monday, Sunday, Monday, Sunday, Monday....

Oh, midnight is gone. Exhaustion put me to sleep and the late night of the day ended and I woke to the early night of another day. The air I've woken to is damp and still and quiet. It's as though I woke to have a dream I missed by sleeping through it. Where the sky is I find darkness, but it catches the faint reflection of towns full of light beyond the forest, and as I watch the darkness glows, as though a dark sun had risen and spread form across formlessness. A roof over the world is everywhere.

Sunday afternoon the roof was there and full of fluid detail as the drifting, translucent clouds revealed the hidden sun of light in its works. I was crossing a parking lot to a store when a fine sprinkle or heavy mist began, and I felt the sudden, cold drops on my face. A diesel powered SUV drove by, and had I closed my eyes I might have pictured myself in Los Angeles some decades ago, walking along some busy street and finding myself suddenly alone with a timeless mist carried through an air faintly scented with diesel exhaust, as it so often was.

But had I closed my eyes today I might have been run down by some local cowboy or senile delinquent as bemused by the mist as I was. Those decades ago are gone, though the atmosphere changes little, and I can imagine mists centuries from now falling there or here without me to feel them, and I know it will make no difference to the mists. They fell centuries ago, ages ago, the same water seeking the same earth, and all it has to do with me is nothing, really. I have to do with it. It seeped into my thoughts long ago and irrigated my memory, and now whenever a mist blossoms I find myself in all times at once. Maybe that's where I've always been.

Early Monday Verse

Dithyramb of a Happy Woman

by Anna Swir

Song of excess,
strength, mighty tenderness,
pliant ecstasy.
lovingly dancing.

I quiver as a body in rapture,
I quiver as a wing,
I am an explosion,
I overstep myself,
I am a fountain,
I have its resilience.
a thousand excesses,
song of gushing strength.

There are gifts in me,
flowerings of abundance,
curls of light are sobbing,
a flame is foaming, its lofty ripeness
is ripening.
Oceans of glare,
rosy as the palate
of a big mouth in ecstasy.

I am astonished
up to my nostrils, I snort,
a snorting universe of astonishment
inundates me.
I am gulping excess, I am choking with fullness,
I am impossible as reality.

translated by Czeslaw Milosz

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