Treatise on Something Delicate

I have been trying to think of a way to express a thing both delicate and oddly idealistic. Maybe the sleeper in me would say there’s a dark star in my wrist. And what’s so idealistic about that? Oh I don’t know, something of the universal occurs inside our most fragile spots. There’s a little spark of immanence behind your left ear. I need something both to discover and love about the most customary things. Take a key and turn it in the lock of the green leaf and enter the old city of the trees. 

 

So that’s my state today. I bent down on the lawn this morning and a gray winged grasshopper walked like a stately old man between the roots of the catalpa tree. I entered my house feeling a kind of vertiginous loneliness for which there is no solution. And that’s the way this day has been. And as the Swedish poet Lars Forssell would say: Tend it/guard it/The life-flame, the fire of hope.