Need to get some of this down before it leaves me -- Maybe it won't make any sense. I've moved into the country beyond hunger. Maybe I'm delirious.

Just returned from Michelle Shocked. Wowee (like Bob Dylan says it--pretty scary)! I am well. And what the fuck, baby, do I care what happened today up until now? Because I may have fucked everything up, but even if I did. My love is a dry well and your love is a big blue sky and sometimes I need a thunderstorm to come and fill me up.

Frances said she was like a preacher. I can't talk about it. But this: I remember suddenly the rest of my life, I've got all of that and there is much to do. I can do any of it and I can do this.

I offer these fragments to the reclamation gods:

From Basho (the poet, not the dog):

Even in Kyoto--
hearing the cuckoo's cry--
I long for Kyoto.

____________

From Sappho:

You may
blame Aphrodite

soft as she is

she has almost
killed me with
love for that boy.

____________

From Rumi:

The way of love is not
a subtle argument.

The door there
is devestation.

And:

If anyone asks you
how the perfect satisfaction
of all our sexual wanting
will look, lift your face
and say,
Like this.

When someone mentions the gracefulness
of the nightsky, climb up on the roof
and dance and say,
Like this?

If anyone wants to know what "spirit" is,
or what "god's fragrance" means,
lean your head toward him or her.
Keep your face there close.
Like this.

When someone quotes the old poetic image
about clouds gradually uncovering the moon,
slowly loosen knot by knot the strings
of your robe.
Like this?

If anyone wonders how Jesus raised the dead,
don't try to explain the miracle.
Kiss me on the lips.
Like this. Like this.