the last chapter is rolling around in my head. or should i say, roiling. it's like a wild sea heaving and falling into troughs then rising again. all while i am trying to teach, or prepare for teaching. richard said the last chapter needs tension, and he is right and so ideas are speeding through my mind. i need time to put them into the computer and yet . . . i am writing my blog.

on itunes: Punchdrunk Lovesick Singalong

today's poem is from william stafford, in its entirety.

by the secret that holds the forest up,
no one will escape. (we have reached this place.)

the sky will come home some day.
(we pay all mistakes our bodies make when they move.)

Is there a way to walk that living has obscured?
(our feet are trying to remember some path we are walking toward.)