Sunday, March 19, 2017
Thursday, March 16, 2017
My friend, the things that do attain
The happy life be these, I find:
The riches left, not got with pain,
The fruitful ground; the quiet mind;
The equal friend; no grudge, no strife;
No charge of rule nor governance;
Without disease the healthy life;
The household of continuance;
The mean diet, no dainty fare;
True wisdom joined with simpleness;
The night discharged of all care,
Where wine the wit may not oppress;
The faithful wife, without debate;
Such sleeps as may beguile the night:
Content thyself with thine estate,
Neither wish death, nor fear his might.
Wednesday, March 15, 2017
I waited though wanting nothing,
then waited longer.
As if by that I might
the carved and painted lure—
Its two iridescent eyes that stay always open,
its stippled gold sides, deep-orange back,
red threads attached at the gills.
I hummed with its three-pronged shine
of fish who are sweet and fat to the birds above them.
I hummed with its three injured notes to the fish below.
To all the blue-winged, handless distances
and all my blue-finned, handless lives,
in borrowed Swedish and the iron-hiding slip of gleam—
The great strangeness still may come, even for you.