“I knew the tension in me between love and power, between pain and rage, and the curious, the grinding way I remained extended between these poles – perpetually attempting to choose the better rather than the worse.” — James Baldwin
I read all the names of the sacred rivers and creeks
as roadside memorials blurred into permanent mile markers
horizon x distance = distortion
horizontally speaking it was a longing
pressure folded into seductive resistance
when you knew you were in trouble, what did you do next?
these days and for some time since
I move with spiritual abandonment
neglect now atmospheric radiance
habitual as landscapes
my divided thoughts pulled to you
just because they know your name doesn’t mean they know where you came – cat power
I rediscovered grace through curated understandings
some spoken, explicit, but most often held in breath
in glances and in rhythmic exchange of metaphors.
A particularly classed communion.
Quiet clung to the lake’s edges
marred only by wandering hymns and mornings with thunder.
I thought about all those places that made us,
an acceptance of motion as hard-luck blessings and raptured devotion.
This is the tenuous nature of belief.
In effort, a maintenance of fallibility,
oh holy day: in haste, but with love.
in haste, but with love – Raymond Carver’s closing in an unpublished letter to Bob Adelman December 13, 1987