December 9th, 2007



Stunned by that sky moving masses of water and spilling not a drop, I let the day pass as a dream does, not touching the ground, not recognizing the bounds matter sets on a stride or a breath, aloft where I saw those birds who were alighting in bare trees and singing all the cold afternoon. The day burned out in red that was not fire but the crystals of ice that once—no, often—were beads of sweat that caught then and then again as this evening in other the sun's fleet light and shot it out transformed. Oh how the birds fled to their nightly refuge! I stayed to see the few stars to escape the crowding clouds. Air so fresh it could make you laugh, then sigh. It was the air all along I know now.

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