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rejectomorph

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Displaced [Dec. 4th, 2016|05:01 pm]
rejectomorph
The shopping trip fell through, and has yet to be rescheduled. This leaves me feeling at loose ends. That happens a lot these days so one would think I'd be accustomed to it, but I'm not. I'll probably end up feeling displaced in time all night. That night is about to begin, as something resembling a sunset is going on right now. The last bit of color is draining from the sky where the clouds that kept the day gray have begun to break up. Only the west has partly cleared. Everywhere else it remains overcast, and it may be the moon will remain hidden until it reaches the westernmost part of the sky. But clouds are unstable things, like my schedule, so maybe not.

Now where did I put that thing I thought I wanted but now can't remember what it is?




Sunday Verse



In Memoriam Mae Noblitt


by A. R.Ammons


This is just a place:
we go around, distanced,
yearly in a star's

atmosphere, turning
daily into and out of
direct light and

slanting through the
quadrant seasons: deep
space begins at our

heels, nearly rousing
us loose: we look up
or out so high, sight's

silk almost draws us away:
this is just a place:
currents worry themselves

coiled and free in airs
and oceans: water picks
up mineral shadow and

plasm into billions of
designs, frames: trees,
grains, bacteria: but

is love a reality we
made here ourselves—
and grief—did we design

that—or do these,
like currents, whine
in and out among us merely

as we arrive and go:
this is just a place:
the reality we agree with,

that agrees with us,
outbounding this, arrives
to touch, joining with

us from far away:
our home which defines
us is elsewhere but not

so far away we have
forgotten it:
this is just a place.

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