Day 30
April is perfect in all conceivable ways apart from the pining separation from November’s divine dark
April is perfect in all conceivable ways apart from the pining separation from November’s divine dark
of all the angels who wandered and waited or not who landed before me here, there, what brings you to …
alike from afar but endlessly varied stitches line the edges of all we touch of our made being
— as the sea under its starry lattice moans leaving us and coming back in endless indecision
long ago atop this wooded hill, breeze tossing leaves, Emerson’s pages ruffling, a habitat discovered
even the sundial loses all track of time following the breeze swarm through our sea of fresh pine needles