an island somewhere? If I could become
part of an epic, create a context
for the past, I might partake in a great
story, human truth peeled back to expose
the bare bones of exposition, given
a place to sit, watch the action. Except
the thought of clashing armies, even from
afar, makes me sweat, women and children
shuffled here and there. One would think shrieking
would make them less appealing, but there they
are, mounted. Here’s the clue: have pity and
compassion. For yourself and everyone
else. In spite of. Although. Nevertheless.
I write every morning at 5 a.m.