Boketto by Susan Rich
Outside my window it’s never the same—
some mornings jasmine slaps the house, some mornings sorrow.
There is a word I overheard today, meaning lost
not on a career path or across a floating bridge:
Boketto—to stare out windows without purpose.
Don’t laugh; it’s been too long since we leaned
into the morning: bird friendly coffee and blueberry toast. Awhile
since I declared myself a prophet of lost cats—blind lover
of animal fur and feral appetites. Someone should tag
a word for the calm of a long marriage. Knowledge
the heat will hold, and our lights remain on— a second
sight that drives the particulars of a life: sea glass and salt,
cherry blossoms and persistent weeds. What assembles in the middle
distance beyond the mail truck; have I overlooked oceans,
ignored crows? I try to exist in the somehow, the might still be—
gaze upward to constellations of in-between. Art by Angela McKay Recommended listening: As Time Goes By - Dooley Wilson First Love Never Die - Soko
Links of the Day: David Hockney, Contrarian, Shifts Perspectives + Happy Birthday, Mr Hockney Found in an NYC Junk Shop: Forgotten Postcards between Two Haiku Masters Motion Poems The Alipore Post Questionnaires 1 and 2 (A simple attempt at understanding human nature)