February 28th, 2007
Winter, Quiet Stream
Quiet times are some of the best times to be in motion: winter, four-thirty before the joggers wake up.
Transcriptorial: Despite their ice ceiling, so perfect / at deflecting cat paws, all the others just slept, / burrowing into mud.
Is that fish named Wanda?
Or a suburb at two in the morning, or a trail no one uses any time you’d like to go. You make your own quiet times, to a certain extent.
Learn to carry your own silent place within you. Like a cathedral no one knows is there. But don’t tell anyone about it or they’ll try to break in.