This morning, early, bending to tie my sneakers I thought about the dead, how they do us no harm. It was a small freedom like pipe smoke. Also, I realized I never want to tell others how to live.
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I arrive too seldom at kindness. Oh I talk about it. Point to it, like a child at the zoo who sees hippopotami. One day kindness will shove me out of the nest.
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When I went to the school for the blind my roommate, who had prosthetic eyes, kept dropping them on the floor. Together we would crawl around groping for them. The moon rose outside the window.
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There are so many folktales where the old man traveling never gets home. Homer wasn’t interested in those. The Odyssey is fine, but I prefer an old Finnish story called “Let’s Pretend We’re Eating.”
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Its lovely to be nearing death without ambitions. I have a small homemade wooden whistle.
Planet of the Blind 