my master is at the doorThis morning I threw the map aside, exasperated
but it clung to my fingers
After lunch, I stepped over the threshold of my house
and did a victory dance to the Sun King
We're breathing, I said
A tufted titmouse searching for love
in all the right places
unlike some humans I know
sang one note and one note only
for love
and love and love and love and love
knew this name
which is your name
This evening we will have snow
Why fixate on the mundane when all of this is happening around you and in you
it is for you
pick it up again
as when you dropped out
from between your mother's legs
to be here
and you had this awareness without being aware
Love, I left the house key on the hall table
but I feel its outline in my pocket
Self Portrait in the snow at the Tea HouseSaturday, January 29, 2011
No comments:
Post a Comment