Thursday, May 15, 2008



notes to him#6.43 b
I am chronologically out of order. My memory, it goes back
and forward like a wild rabbit jumps someplace
in an infinite grass, chases invisible things—
each with a violin of then
willing to play for me, for you;
if you just give to it a squeezed ounce of attention.
It sings.
We must be small to remember, we must take off our adult skin
and shimmy back to the little legs, the little stick breathing ribs
to the wordlessness of our fingertips

to the little indent between your heart cage & mine
that barely had a layer of fat on we were beautiful we are beautiful
I hope to see it again

your face. These new crickets
(say something...
don't they ...)
in unmowable grass.

Carolin Reichert here & Cyrus Karimipour (Invented Memory) &
face your pockets (an idea) &
a small shared story about finding the unexpected -- Buddhist pearls.

Link to Tumbleword's other site (Same post) ;
& Peace to all ..


Sandra Evertson said...

Wow, it is Beautiful here!
Sandra Evertson

M.KATE said...

well...what a tumbleword here...but very nice anyway, sort of dreamy and beautiful :)

Calder said...

My thoughts are provoked by your words. Interesting!
Thanks for the comment on my blog!!


Christine said...

I like your words, M. And thank you for the links. Especially the pocket-faces - dwelled for the longest time. Take care

gracia said...

"each with a violin of then" - brilliant.

see you, g