Day 706, June 8, 2022

Terminal Velocity

Listening to history recited
by a man with the adroit dexterity of a savant, 
and the constancy of a bumble bee. 

The thing I remember most is the thing I remember least. 

Can you imagine the panic 
of letting children into the sanctuary of a toy collector? 
How about a decadent slice of cheesecake? 
Or letting go of a rope 
and falling through the air, 
a moment of flight, 

just long enough to gasp, 
before the water rose up to swallow 
bodies, 
ankles, 
knees, 
breasts, and chin? 
I woke this morning with reminders for my more awake self. 
I am perhaps most productive before I brush my teeth. 

The morning betrayed the day. 

Nobody deserves the fate of a broken phone, 
a punctured tire, 
an extinguished animal. 
We should be all loved as the child massaged back to life, 
as the stunned scarlet tanager resting on a pant leg, 
as the evening sky before a storm.

James Turrell’s C.A.V.U. at Mass MoCA


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