Postures 2007: #2 from Side Two
"The Mystery" ". . . that is what all our lives are-- pure gift; and everything that exists. And we must give them back to God." Fr. James Gau, S.J. Late yesterday afternoon when Fr. Jim was speaking / or this Sunday morning fishing the rusty river in the windy cattail marsh shapes colors smells textures tastes The chirps & trills of blackbirds the lonely rustlings of willow leaves the heavy whizzes of distant cars In my hand a yellow narrow hexagon with a black top & a coppery point In the sky a white straight-line cloud Memories of Vegas and the chattering bandits Memories of long silent walks the feel of shagbark hickory of wild strawberries particles of wood / rosy dye on my fingertips the feel of cool moss between my toes Spring water splashing from a pump sulphurous cold Me in a sleeping bag trying to stay warm Midnight conversations the impatiences of late morning the rumble of a plane woofs of a dog the fished-out Blacks before us their dull red Chevy running Mark's fingers opening a map Places to investigate Politicians' sweaty hands thin gristly burgers Ribbons of no direction In the middle of a word a sudden monarch silence the need to feel time A male Least Bittern stalking past Mark's rod discovering with each step its self learning again the shore
[ "The Mystery" was originally published in Wisconsin Review. ] ------- Brian A. J. Salchert
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