Days are unusual. The owl sends
out 5 zeroes from the pines
plus one small silver nothing. Where
do they float? Maybe out to
sea, where jellyfish are aging left
& right. They have some nerve.
Today, no new wars, probably. No
big button. The owl could be
your scholar of trapped light or
Walter Benjamin who writes a storm
blows in from paradise. Thinking through
these things each week, you cross
the bridge: gold coils, fog, feelings…
syllables also can grow younger like
those jellyfish. You bring your quilt
of questions in the car. At
work, you’ll have to be patient
at the risky enterprise of talking
to other people; so little progress
in this since the Pleistocene. Mostly,
though, you’re calm when traveling: silver
nothing, moving right & left; day
releasing the caged stars; one thought
mixed with no-thought, packed with light…
for MK
