rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

Noted

More clouds are forming today, and in every quarter of the sky. The weather seems prepared for some transition. I'll just drag along behind it. Things happen to me or around me now and I just drift, with nothing to say. The birds and insects all seem so pleased with the days, and they must be right, the time must be pleasant, but I barely notice, being still both achy and dazed. A dandelion drifts across my sight, or some glimmering translucent insect, but it can't compete with the sudden jab in my knee or crick in my neck. Things fall apart, starting with me.



Sunday Verse



Breath


by Mark Strand


When you see them
tell them I am still here,
that I stand on one leg while the other one dreams,
that this is the only way,

that the lies I tell them are different
from the lies I tell myself,
that by being both here and beyond
I am becoming a horizon,

that as the sun rises and sets I know my place,
that breath is what saves me,
that even the forced syllables of decline are breath,
that if the body is a coffin it is also a closet of breath,

that breath is a mirror clouded by words,
that breath is all that survives the cry for help
as it enters the stranger's ear,
and stays long after the word is gone,

that breath is the beginning again, that from it
all resistance falls away, as meaning falls
away from life, or darkness falls from light,
that breath is what I give them when I send my love.
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 2 comments