W H E N E C S T A S Y I S I N C O N V E N I E N T
Feign a great calm; all gay transport soon ends. Chant: who knows— flight's end or flight's beginning for the resting gull? Heart, be still. Say there is money but it rusted; say the time of moon is not right for escape. It's the color in the lower sky too broadly suffused, or the wind in my tie. Know amazedly how often one takes his madness into his own hands and keeps it.
When ecstasy is inconvenient....feign a great calm.
Say there is money, but oh, it's rusted, indeed it is.
I sifted through all sorts of poems this morning about autumn, and leaves. The ends of things. But what I wanted was ecstasy, however inconvenient. And so there you have it. In your own hands, amazedly.
I took the camera along on my walk yesterday, and the whole time, nothing, really. Nothing that made me gasp. And then, along the bottom of our front stoop. This array of leaves and dried flowers.