The last thing that went through my mind
before i fell asleep was this:
i worry, that i worry too much, which is of
great concern to no one, but me.
i dreamed this:
where is the starling i shaped out of clay?
i told myself to let her go in November
and everyday i watched her die slowly against
the sharp blade of daylight.
in February what was left of her made me cry,
i sat with her and she was cold and i was
cold and i asked, somewhat rhetorically
what of us now, friend?
and in the morning, when i still lived, i wrote
my mantra for the day on a slip of paper:
we should all strive to have lives that requires living
so i spent an entire month only listening to
Ornette Coleman’s Free Jazz and i came away with this:
in some neighborhoods they still hang clothes out to dry. So at night, the children, their mothers and their fathers, can all sleep wrapped in the breath of our dying sun.
