Last night's dance stays with me and is somewhere in this writing. As is Jenny Boully's writing—a line from "The Body" opens the poem. It's a sketch.
Speed of difficulty
Light and prayer also have finite speeds. Measurable, falling in narrow spectra along the ground as they snap. The speed of groping toward. The speed of erasure. I have graphed my problem with God with a pencil rubbed on sand, which allows for endless rearranging. The problem is that we have rigid expectations of the infinite but let the ordinary go. We wonder about souls flickering, say, but wind holds no interest. Light moves like an organizing impulse through a body it shapes like a curve. An interruption in space, a pause. More interesting: What has fallen in the dark. More interesting yet: A handful of salt scattering as the water inside evaporates. Or the residue that clings to fingers. Magic tricks. I watch the pigeons fly down when they sense our crumbs. The joke is that we’ll swallow anything. Pulverized gems, transfigured flesh, even a bad burger. I prefer what’s difficult, which often looks the simplest. A brush stroke, for example, or a quick, clean swipe of a knife. Original synthesis, explained as the speed of pulling apart, or mating. I could watch the limbs join and release all night without ever reaching in to touch, though it goes on and on without the right combination of hands for capture. Thoughts tumbling without belief. The speed of waiting.
3/25
The amazing photo is from NASA's Marshall Space Flight Center and titled Earth's Limb (NASA, International Space Station Science, 5/06/09). The information that accompanies the photo on Flickr explains: Earth's horizon against the blackness of space is featured in this image, photographed by an Expedition 19 crewmember on the International Space Station. p.s. The Earth's "limb" is refers to the area where the curve of the Earth meets the blackness of space.
