May 11th

This green
Boating through
Sunbeam skimming

I’ve met a kindly philatelist
On a walk beyond the sound
And they speak of squares
As stars, lay up their hands
Pressing the air and say
History is little more
Than four sides of every issue
And nothing will be delivered
To the future without the thumb

And my thumbs circle each other
As the talk turns in the day
And the salubrious ways
We together trade our loves
I tell this philatelist
Of a story I once heard

There’s a weeping person
Who can’t stop weeping
And the family of the weeping
Can no longer stand the weeping
So a doctor is summoned
And this doctor recommends a goat
And a goat is brought to live with the family

But the family hates the rowdy goat
It creates nothing but noise
Breaks things, and eats things
And stays up all night bleating
They call the doctor
Beg to have the goat taken away

And when the goat is gone
The weeping
Of the weeping one
Sounds like music now
And peace is restored

The philatelist says
Oh yes, I understand
We must appreciate the peace we have
For there is always something worse –

And I say no,
That is the story, but not why I love this story.
I love this story because
Help was requested
And all they got was a stinking goat
And the weeping one
Who supposedly all this is about
Never even gets to speak

Merely keeps on weeping
And that’s why I love this story
Because when I tell this story
Everyone searches for the moral
And never seems to see what’s playing out
Before their eyes

This water
This blue, this
Blurred lavender

The philatelist asks, if I’m weeping?
No, no I say it’s much worse than that
I’m simply telling of weeping
Every day
Without so much a tear.

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