Took a recent walk…. hoping to find inspiration in a fall day…. hoping to soak in the essence of Ezra Pound and William Carlos Williams through their library smell…….. hemmed the seams of the city with my thoughts….. my sonic monologue turned to blue thread along the sidewalks……

Found an injured moth on the corner of Grand and 75th.  Knelt down and nudged him for awhile.  His black wings lilted softly against the breeze, perhaps also in disease…. dis-ease….. oblivious to my mercy…. caught and bound in instinctual waiting…..

Plugging along at Pound and at a murder mystery in nightly lamp light, i think of the velvety black wings of that moth….. and of his crooked spindle legs…. antennae quivering in vain….. oblivious to my mercy….. caught and bound in instinctual waiting………..

And so another shift in the plates, from under me they rumble.  Panic gets me nowhere, ringing my hands gets me nowhere…. i know my answer’s out there….. so i pause…….. attempt calm refocus…..

breath……

caught and bound in spiritual waiting……..

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