dispersion

it seems,
that when a signifier is no longer present,
that which was signified disperses,
like dandelion seeds or fireflies or mist
and alights a little on everything else around

relief... is not the right word

I am having a very hard time thinking of the right word to describe the feeling of being told that the letter that might be the last message you will ever be able to send to someone, has made it across the time and distance, and has been received and read.

it is grateful
it is grieving
it is almost debilitating
it is finished
a part of me can let out the breath it's been holding and rest in peace
and the rest of me celebrates mournfully

I told my brother the good news I'd heard - that his email had been received and read.
"That's good to hear," he said - his shoulders relaxed, bringing his forehead down to his hand as the first tears came, and mine followed.

Pitzeem and the Mare

I brought a copy of "The Night Abraham Called to the Stars" by Robert Bly with me.
The other night, realizing I was parched for poetry, I turned to it and asked for water. I'd glanced across this poem before, but now have eyes to see:

Pitzeem and the Mare

Let's tell the other story about Pitzeem and his horse.
When the One He Loved moved to the mountains,
He bought a mare and a saddle and started out.

He rode all day with fire coming out of his ears,
And all night. When the reins fell, the mare knew it right
Away. She turned and headed straight for the barn.

No one had told Pitzeem, but his horse had left
a new foal back in the stable. She thought of nothing
All day but his sweet face with its long nose.

Pitzeem! Pitzeem! How much time you've lost!
He put the mountain between the mare's ears again.
He slapped his own face; he was a good lover.

And every night he fell asleep once more. Friends,
Our desire to reach our true wife is great,
But the mare's love for her child is also great. Please

Understand this. The journey was a three-day trip,
But it took Pitzeem thirty years. You and I have been
Riding for years, but we're still only a day from home.


( and another poem, just the last 2 stanzas:)

The Country Roads

...
In my early poems I praised so many lost things.
The way the crickets' cries in October carried
Them into the night sky felt right to me.

Every way of knowing is blessed by bootleggers.
Because the government does not allow delight
To be sold, you have to find it on the country roads.

Spring

The days lengthen and the air warms
I feel my life rise up out of the waking earth

Flowers

"One of the things you have to do with a flower," he said, "is let it grow, it's own way. You have to give the flower what it needs to grow.

already

Every now and then, I remember that I already am.

A journey of a thousand miles

is a sequence (series?) of decreasingly long journeys, each journey beginning with a single step, and each journey one step shorter than the last.

couple

They naturally enjoy being together and doing whatever the other is doing.

They are comfortable with each other and take comfort in each other.

When she is hungry, he feeds her. When she is stressed, he calms her. When she is upset, he holds her. He does not suggest that she should have taken care of herself better than to be hungry, stressed, or upset. He looks for ways to make her feel good and tells her things to encourage her to feel good about herself. He is glad when she uses and practices her abilities.

When she is well, she feeds him. She looks after the things he forgets, remembers the things he says, and gives them back to him later. She encourages his interests and abilities and celebrates with him. She often does not need to particularly solicit his attention because they have a habit of asking how the other is doing, and when he senses that she is unwell, he acts to understand and remedy her condition.

They look out for and treat each others' interests as their own.

I am glad to know these people. They are good reminders.