Most often I seek seeing the good as a willow-of-the-wisp more a vagrant breeze or dragonfly upon my shoulder for hours across Narragansett Bay sailing cat's paws upon landfall dad calling out to a man nearby digging for clams toes embedded in the shoals beneath us; “What state is this?”
She was Lisa,the vessel bearing us, resurrected a ruin from hurricane tossed aside ashore and very shallow of draft centerboard up she could sail downwind in six inches of water. Such are the mediums of dreams informing me of the why but not the how to write.
Children I write for the child who was and returned to dance in joy before The All knowing we are essentially children lost in a thicket of lies conceits vanities vagaries sold for profit power and control by merchants selling the same thing with different labels “good, Better, BEST!
Though he left me penniless alone often and finally I weep for the joy of knowing him at all his greatest and final bequest a soft shoe shuffle laughing in jest touching all comers blest with his healing joy in the moment healing embrace.
Epochs ago long before time recorded I longed to make love with mother who despised being a woman in her turn made me despise being a man nascent of course then but neutered nonetheless through her many masks of joy rage suffering pleasure I watched her for those explosions of whichever came next chimerical as time-lapse movie reprise her moods mercury dropped from a great height splashed and writhing about in whatever
Of course she gone long ago buried her using The Episcopal Prayer Book ritual form reading in turn each phrase beyond required a paean delaying interment forgiven now surprised my longing rehearsed over and again with others Women/Woman only but understanding celebrating the sacrament of union between all healing touch fusion.
Of joy and suffering I am familiar indifference too abandoned never abandoning not really since as obvious I carry them all within the precincts of consciousness beloved impossible unions flesh and spirit willing able yet celibate since to dance with God must be danced alone save for winters dance naked in deserted moonlight we all dance circles for a time rapturously
--George Balanchine
“I am a choreographer. A choreographer is a poet. I do not create. God creates. I assemble, and I will steal from everywhere to do it.”
“God loves each of us as if there were only one of us.” --Saint Augustine of Hippo
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