a series of streams

the following is a series of stream-of-consciousness writings i have written over the course of the past few days (both before and after my departure for the yard)

Paul Taylor in the park. Extraordinary. Farewell, New York City.  I depart in forty-eight hours . Excitement abound. I am on the train to Bronxville. Going to see Josh for the last time. The sun set on the dancers. Esplanade was special tonight.

I made friends with old ladies. They wished me luck on my journey.

you will find me

in the sycamore trees

that's where i'll be

all alone, dreaming of you

combing the fair breeze.

watching the bees suckle honey from little flower to flower, the beauty of their calculations. i want to live out in the country, though part of me despises it. they morning fog creeps away revealing the sun-and-cloud speckled sky. i think about my future, the weary world's future, then the homesickness sets in a bit.

thoreau once came to the beaches of Staten Island. This is what he said of those sandy plains by the water's edge:

The sea-beach is the best thing I have seen. It sits very solitary and remote, and you only remember New York occasionally. The distances, too, along the shore and inland sight of it, are unaccountable great and startling. The sea seems very near from the hills, but it proves a long way over the plain, and yet you may be wet with the spray before you can believe that you are there. The far seems near and the near far.

-Thoreau to Emerson, Staten Island, June 8 1843 (as written on the boardwalk)

the tree on the lawn.

dusk is a fair  time on the vineyard.

crickets play their pretty little things

seeing at the sound of it

that time is never

i hear the guitar music, folks in the distance

and not a car around.

the pale haze surrounds the trees

that nestle us inside a cocoon

of water starlight

i want my home

to be

forever

in

the startle open.

deers on the highway sound

far away

from here

i have this image of me slow and moving with the love of my life. he's looking at me and i at him and we are like two children-- smiling and laughing but continuing this slow waltz, our weight sinking into each other equally, we hold on with our eyes-- he's my dancing partner.

meet me by the river for a swim.

 -m