I worked on this while sipping the exquisite coffee at Groundwork, that $2 cup made with the famous $11,000 brewing machine. The preparation was a ritual--the warming of the empty cup, intermittent stirring of the water and grounds, the tended steeping. Oh that the writing were as delicious. But the company was good at least. Julia sat struggling across from me, thinking about her boy. I just put words on lines. Thought, "So this is what coffee is supposed to taste like."
4. Non-attachment
Every sequined dress sheds, and the body
beneath leaves its own trail, imprint and smear
of wet contact, slurry of skin, an
endless sloughing, then the fossil record
of shining mica flakes. Abandonment
is nothing personal. Balconies fill
with the feathers of migrating flocks.
Gutters shine with mirrors chipped from cars.
Resolve slips from a hanger, disappears
onto the floor of a closet. Our
incidental detritus, endless,
inevitable. Only the mind
insists that it can grasp. Even as it
flits, drops another thought on the midden.
4/5/07
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