I know now the beloved Has no fixed abode, That each body She inhabits Is only a temporary Home. That she Casts off forms As eagerly As lovers shed clothes. I accept that he's Just passing through That flower Or that stone. And yet, it makes Me dizzy— The way he hides In the flow of it, The way she shifts In fluid motions, Becoming other things. I want to stop him— If only briefly. I want to lure her To the surface And catch her In this net of words.
Gregory Orr
*
To be alive: not just the carcass
But the spark.
That's crudely put, but...
If we're not supposed to dance,
Why all this music? Gregory Orr
