morning’s roll call
there is a certain intensity a certain kind of seeing that seems available to me only when I’ve cast the ballast of work into the waters of a brand new place
it’s habit I hate the gleam is in the going to of things
discipline and depth of feeling I do not lack
a fierce commitment to absence or is it aloneness or singularity
rooted in the continuity of place hangs on
the rift that sings between these two ambitions
experience and creating
and the extent to which I aim with all my might but mostly fall short
that’s the fuel the choke to do it all again
passionate sadness is not depression
that’s too narrow a lane to maintain
bring back melancholy as a state of honor
a quick lapse into silence
they didn’t need me
and I could do something with that