Often, there are adventures before you awake

4/2/2023

Day 2

the day arrives unexpectedly
Con/Jur/d, 4/2/2023

We wish we could tell you
how it is to be embodied, the subtle
itching, the not-so-subtle chronic
and acute feedback loops, how
your first time was a surprise
a revelation, how meanings
became assigned, to what
was meant to be only
annotations for your
interplay with
time; how


you


came to be here
where brittle snow
flows through pre-dawn 
streets like a river, yet
Caribbean Lobsters remain
even now, ignorant of ice
and where everything is old, upcycled
where you are assembled from
previously used parts, harvested
from the midden piles of stars


We wish, given the paucity
of symbols, we could communicate
how we wended our way here


the “edge
Of one of many circles[1],”  as the poet said
too simple for words
or numbers, telling, showing become
pointless confabulations, although
we share this passage of air
the in, the out, the subtle
somatics of reading
writing and 
arithmetic


Why don’t
we give up
together?


Despite a lack 
we understand
we will get here 
in the end. 


________________
[1] Thirteen Ways of Looking at a Blackbird
Wallace Stevens - 1879-1955

Much love,

Con/Jur/d, 4/2/2023