Wednesday, October 22, 2008

At Night

Fold and squint and cringe. I find myself thinking about non-being or, alternatively, the emotional and physical pain of people I love. To hold these thoughts is unbearable and also unstanchable, like the smooth flow of water over a flat plane in a fountain, from one level to another, but seeming like forever.

I dream of the back yard of my childhood. Animals--wolves and deer and other fast-moving creatures--roam the space, trotting across a trimmed lawn and along the back fence. I watch them from the deck and dart inside when I sense they've noticed me. I am full of a nervous foreboding.

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