March 30th, 2005

munkacsy_parc_monceau

Cold

The sky cleared, and the night became icy cold. When the waning moon rose, long shadows crept around the mulberry tree and covered the lawn in dark brocade. This shadow garden now fades as the sky grows pale. There were deer on the street earlier, and some small creature I couldn't see but for the glow of its eyes. I don't think the cold will last much longer, but the deer might be visiting more often in the coming nights. Watching for them will be something to do when it grows too hot for the Slug.

I added macintosh to my reading list. Mmm, iMacs. One company, one piece, one plug. I like simplicity more than ever.
caillebotte_man at his window

Poet

Robert Creeley (1926 - 2005)

The World

Robert Creeley


I wanted so ably
to reassure you, I wanted
the man you took me to be,

to comfort you, and got
up, and went to the window,
pushed back, as you asked me to,

the curtain, to see
the outline of the trees
in the night outside.

The light, love
the light we felt then,
greyly, was it, that

came in, on us, not
merely my hands or yours,
or a wetness so comfortable,

but in the dark then
as you slept, the grey
figure came so close

and leaned over,
between us, as you
slept, restless, and

my own face had to
see it, and be seen by it,
the man it was, your

grey lost tired bewildered
brother, unused, untaken--
hated by love, and dead,

but not dead, for an
instant, saw me, myself
the intruder, as he was not.

I tried to say, it is
all right, she is
happy, you are no longer

needed. I said,
he is dead, and he
went as you shifted

and woke, at first afraid,
and knew by my own knowing
what had happened--

and the light then
of the sun coming
for another morning
in the world.