. . . when [a person] is capable of being in uncertainties,
mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact
and reason.
- John Keats
You're lying in the grass
studying the azure map of the sky
comparing it to the veins
on the back of your hand
which lately have been speaking to you - in tongues -
to-and-fro, to-and-fro.
Perhaps you've arrived with someone else?
Or, better, as someone else?
The tingling ebb and flow.
The trials and trails?
The excitement of then, yes?
Aha! You mean I'm excused?
No one's excused.
A few bucks. Just a few bucks,
and you'll be off and running, again.
Sort of.
What brings you here?
An election year?
Filled with unspoken conversations? And negative space?
Let us not forget the place of negative space.
And negative capability, for that matter,
which, for your edification, offers an alternative.
To what?
Your dreams of the Old Country, and its accoutered models.
Be nimble. Be quick. Jump over the dowsing stick.
Yes. Yes. And yes.
