Monkey Mind

My mind is in around 900 places. The clarity of mind and focus that discernment takes seems quite impossible. Yet, there may be something in that “in between.”

I seek answers. Like most people I crave that definite space: black and white.

It is a simple truth that it life is grey. That, seemingly by design, it is always in transition. As I try to understand my new job, my healing, my confusion and my hope, it all just becomes a smear.

Suffice it to say, poetry is becoming a refuge. For today, “For the Dead” by Adrienne Rich:

I dreamed I called you on the telephone
to say: Be kinder to yourself
but you were sick and would not answer

The waste of my love goes on this way
trying to save you from yourself

I have always wondered about the left-over
energy, the way water goes rushing down a hill
long after the rains have stopped

or the fire you want to go to bed from
but cannot leave, burning-down but not burnt-down
the red coals more extreme, more curious
in their flashing and dying
than you wish they were
sitting long after midnight

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