rhythm is the face inside the words

 
 
          for real.
 
now stand near.   close your eyes.
I’m doing the same.   imagine now,
me imagining you,   standing near.
 
 
          to share a space!
 
to walk the same floors.   and hand to handle,
orange juice on the left, milk on the right.   the stairs.
the groceries.   the calico cat.   some ants.   sleeping.
tending our garden.   I do the watering.   some of it.
          blessing is this body of life.
 
 
it’s not so much your visceral intent, mattering.
it’s that you align with the intent that already is.
 
 
the writing itself, pen to paper on my fingertips,
takes me a step away from my shoes.   from you.
 
 
          think of mother remembering.
 
soft towels around her arms to keep her from drifting
out of her chair and away.   she did.   they brought her
home.   well, that day, that home was a hospital room.
 
nothing familiar.   memories free to put up a tent.
back in San Francisco.   I was just there with friends
this afternoon,
she says.   she’s back to the boarding
house for her meal tonight.   says, I look familiar.
          she’s glad seeing me.
 
I don’t take memory personally.
 
 
it’s an ordinary skill taken to heart.   I try.
 
 
think of this wandering like a ripe apple.
          you know.   something sweet.

2 thoughts on “rhythm is the face inside the words

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