Thursday, July 23, 2015
The words on the eraser board
vanish faster than I can get them down.
If I can catch them I will have the code
to free the prisoner in the border jail
and remember what the divine wants of me.
While I worry about this
a fish is slipping through the yard
and the lion in my living room
tells me that she is the part of me
that is on fire with love for the world.
Mornings are all like this.
I return from a room next door
with messages from another world
that slip through my fingers like slippery fish.
I see what the art of memory requires.
I train myself to step through the door
between the worlds. In my second body
I write on the message board
while my ordinary hand scratches on a pad.
This is my writer's way.
- Robert Moss, Mosswood Hollow, July 23, 2015.
Tree Dreaming at Mosswood Hollow. Photo by Robert Moss.