Writing of the sun Robert Bly says: “He guides his life on his dreams” and why not? Let’s personify the sun as a sleeping giant who doesn’t feel his heat. There’s no reason not to. Let’s personify the sun as a woman who allows her children to roam at will. No reason not to. I’m learning. I walk in the morning with the dogs and small pebbles on the road shine, even for a blind guy.
Easy walking, late spring… I remember early in boyhood catching a fish. I brought it home alive and was astounded to find the cat had eaten it during the night. That may have been my first lesson about night. I knew right away the cat was just night’s henchman.
This is why I love the mornings. Water in the road stares up at the boy who jumps from place to place.
**
My parents have been dead for almost 14 years. They were difficult people, two souls with demons. They had metallic vision: if the world was hard they would be harder. Their tragedy lay in not being hard at all.
When I jump from place to place I think of them, feigning heroism but without sufficient psychological muscle.
I think of them in their Egyptian boat of the afterlife, the hull paper thin, the two of them learning to steer with their better thoughts.
**
From a Finnish poem: “sometimes I see a child/see in him what I was like/and I want to say I’m sorry”.
Jumping from place to place, and the dogs dancing right along with me.
Easy walking…
Planet of the Blind 