Some mornings the abstract weight of the carbon-brain pulls and I feel like Herman Melville after a cup of tea. I hope to make the mind a fit offering for the blue light of morning, but I’m half of love, half of tears and I dress slowly, whispering to my dogs, entering the day carrying what poet Norman Dubie calls “the green sickness of middle age” though just now I can’t find the quote. I’m a green mind alone.
There’s no help for it, I feel tight, held together with pins and sealing wax. Yes I could cry at any moment.
Waiting for an Amtrak train in Syracuse this morning my small reveries were interrupted by a US Immigration cop who said: “Excuse me Sir, but are you a US citizen?” Of course I said yes, and he thanked me–no he didn’t need to see my identification. He asked everyone in the waiting area. He also boarded our train.
Is this a result of Boston? Yes. I sure could cry.
The green sickness of citizenship…
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Planet of the Blind 
Many of us are crying today. The horror of this senseless tragedy is too much too bear without the release of tears. The city of Boston and its people is in all of our hearts today.
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