If Socrates drank his portion of hemlock willingly,
if the Appalachians have endured unending ages of erosion,
if the wind can learn to read our minds
and moonlight moonlight as a master pickpocket,
surely we can contend with contentment as our commission.
Deer in a stubble field, small birds dreaming
unimaginable dreams in hollow trees,
even the icicles, darling, even the icicles shame us
with their stoicism, their radiant resolve.
Listen to me now: think of something you love
but not too dearly, so the night will steal from us
only what we can afford to lose.
January 2, 2013 at 8:12 am
We have loved the stars too much to be afraid of the night.
And we will always love too dearly, the eternal struggle between a cool head and a hot heart. 2013 sees us getting up once again, beating the odds, hoping for a different outcome.
January 2, 2013 at 9:40 am
yes