I am crying I am falling asleep and am full so completely so full – of love of joy of peace – and I am crying I am crying for the enormous sky the birth of summer and for freedom. I am crying for the huge huge life that’s new and young and waiting. I am crying for all this love for all the people, for all my years. I am crying for happiness and loneliness and for everything I’ve lost and am losing and will lose. I am crying for my poor overwhelmed heart and tiny wings growing out from shoulders. I am crying for the world and all its beauty and all its horror. I am crying for everyone for no one for me. a poem is like a a poem is like a photograph made out of words stitched together with bits of old string. and each word is so truly and wholly connected to its sisters and brothers that together they burrow deep into the darkest most quietly secret corners of the soul, further than a camera sees, further than an eye or an ear or a voice, and wake the heart from a long ago forgotten dream nobody quite gets it but me this one time quiet and long ago some of us were walking and two hedgehogs were walking in a park behind the iron gate. it was off the map. somewhere between sunday and wednesday. a kind of secret nobody-knows-about time. folded away, almost forgotten. smallsmallsmall yet also bigger than the world. only a few days. only a few nights but to me it was enough. sometimes (in mauve dozing mornings, with that lazy air that smells like other countries) i think about you.
