The sun is shining again,
notable for Rochester this time of year.
Heavy winter air is changing over
with the slow cycle of seasons.
I have just finished reading Hayden Carruth’s Eternity Blues
and it has put me in this mood to write.
Poems about memory and The Heart of Darkness do that.
It would be good to have memories to write about.
But I remember nothing.
There are only vague notions, myths, ghosts of the reality,
Picasso-like visions of what was,
an impressionist’s view of what it has come to.
And though most of the myths we live by are benign placeholders
for the moments that actually happen in space and time,
there are some that hold us spellbound with the mystery that
every journey makes the heart of darkness possible.