Art thou pale for weariness of climbing heaven and gazing on the earth, wandering companionless among the stars that have a different birth, and ever changing, like a joyless eye that finds no object worth it's constancy? Thou chosen sister of the Spirit, that gazes on thee til in thee it pities. . . -Shelley (To The Moon)
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
It's nighttime. There are two ways to be alone. One is to be lonely, and the other is keep a secret. I was alone in the latter way, but now I'm letting it go, releasing a mystery here. . . If you are here, I'm alone no more, and hopefully you are not alone, either, if my mere words can keep you company.
The picture above is called Standing Bather by Pierre Auguste Renoir, and the one on the right is Summer Season by Marc Chagall.
I leave my clothes ballooning on the shore
and wade into the watr'y starry field
of ancient, navy depths I've swam before.
Is that you there - on Northern rocks - concealed?
Oasis! I am fooled again by wind
that twists the shadows, giving my dreams feet
while singing this to you, love: In a kind
of soulful searching I believe we'll meet.
I miss you, as I zip and belt my skirt,
when suddenly I hear the married chord
familiar - striking through our moonlit ford -
with music even rocks are made alert!
The air that carries your guitar's old rhyme -
Shows how close we were, now, this whole time.
- ▼ 2010 (14)