1.
i suppose it would happen,
leaning in
to what it means to live
alive in the world
to live truly open,
i suppose it would happen
that i would wonder
where you were in the world
where you are
and how it happened that
our way together
was lost.
2.
when we forget ourselves
for a while –
forget the me, forget the us,
forget who we are as a species,
do we forget the how to’s of living –
the harvest and plant and caress and spin.
do we forget how to live –
when we forget
ourselves
for a while
and wake on a morning
in a half foreign body and wonder
where we are
where we were all those mornings
when light first touched leaf –
do our hands forget the how to of loving –
how love of here becomes action
becomes living
alive
3.
it is hard to remember
contracted contraction
sitting morning desk with scarf and gloves
and windows misted to the world,
it is hard to remember those summer nights,
the expansive singing
of all that lives naming the stars
and the spaces between –
its hard to remember who we are
contracted as we are
by the overwhelming what now-ness of the world,
overwhelming breath held-ness
don’t look/don’t look away-ness of the world
it is hard to remember
contractions as we are
but we are all this night rain, big sky, wings wheeled
translucent across the clearing, dance-stamping
splashing ankle knee thigh deep in golden water
as the tide rushes the estaury cold and salt,
clamour valley, tall tree reaching for breath and light
all this, all this
we are all of this are we not
in the dark between points
of the southern cross stretched
bright on this winter sky,
in the dark in the space between
are uncountable stars
and lifting our faces
warm breath to the night
we remember it is the dust of
stars that grows our bones
earthbound
it is the warmth of stars
that animates our form
we are
we carry
we become
all of this.
For Brendan’s wonderful weekly challenge Woe My Spurs: Desperate Elegies
at Desperate Poets. Read his essay here – https://desperatepoets.com/2023/07/17/elegy-for-my-spurs/
Part of the title is lifted from Larry Levis poem ELEGY WITH AN ANGEL AT ITS GATE
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