If wandering, considered as a state of detachment from every given point in space, is the conceptual opposite of attachment to any point, then the sociological form of the ‘stranger’ presents the synthesis, as it were, of both these properties.

here

via wood s lot

Impressions, Morning

you came along
before I was out of bed
loving the smell of milkweed
and wet grass before dawn

you were out scratching
the bark off a tree
though it was birch
and you let the bugs in

the same way your wet feet
muddied the kitchen floor
all the way
to the coffee

the sun rose with you
and your cup went along
to the boat shining white
in your hand

tilting your head
dark eyes in the sky
the way you slid over water
your prints dried
on the floor

eap

of a god and love
for Paul
July 9th, 2008

they cradled you into the car
wrapped in a white flannel blanket
a few last sprigs of red
hair feathered upward

before you left home
pale kisses
from your brother
missed your cheek

I left out my goodbye
crawled onto the rear seat
my books sliding to the floor
you shuddered, Mother shouted

rain, the bees coming in
could kill you
in arms that couldn’t clutch
you tight enough

I thought you were arguing
yourself alive
for just those moments
while I left you

the last things I remember:
your thin arms
reaching for me
and one long sound
a moan rising

was it me
watching from the sidewalk
as Father drove
you on?

alone, in your cortege
I remember
what we sang:


love
I’ll always love you

but enough of love now

eap

My Boy

Paul Joseph Pickett

June 19, 1962 - July 9, 1968

40 years my boy, 40 years.

Miss you. Miss. You.

words don't work

"The Mourning Parents"

Käthe Kollwitz