puncture — things longer than a paragraph
still need be said.

the wolf, the fire and the cold cold night

lovesong #51 by ruzz (© 2009 ruzz)

“sometimes i find i get to thinkin of the past” - tonght will be fine, L. Cohen.

festooned upon a scraggle of rock & litter of breakwood you push on. the sun about you is a mouth closin & killin. & with closin & killin all the sound & warmth of kind meaingsome words is a dying memory. the dimming light gives way to a play of fire flickrering. a fire built by others, but ever your’s to maintain. & the silence, bringer of night & all her gowns, knotted solitudes & grace unwraps the world of light & places it dark at your feet.

whatever was given is again taken. always taken. what ever was seen is again shrouded & whatever was warmed is cooling to cold again. you’re no more surprised than when an open eye closes slow.

theres no loss in the passing. no robbery in the giving & taking away. you know this in your browned hairs greying, your strong arms thinning. you’re lovin heart opening & closing, forcing life deep to your very innards. theres no loss in the living, only the living.

its a truth your mind will reckon & reckon, toiling itself all the night-long about what’s lost. ain’t a thing to do for that sorta truth but know it & not give any more than it takes without your sayin so. your mind’ll do as your mind’ll do. you aint your mind.

it isn’t any matter anyways—the only truths you can live are in your skin, & teeth, & aching muscle.

maybe others’ll guide you by way of better intents than me. they’ll tell you earnest to take some heart from the things that were, find in them somethin for yourself. a gratitude of kinds for the blessin of just having anything at all. they’ll be lookin after you best they can & maybe you ought take their words if you can make them fit into the folds of your belly. if you can holster them by your cock & draw them on what comes for you in the long cold of night.

if you can do you oughta do, the ends the same whatever road you choose.

but if you can’t find a hold on their slip’ry words, can’t make em part of every step your gunna have to step hereout your best to leave em in total. you can find that much out your own self if you need to.

you’ll soonday come to it & see through this passin. see through the promise & sweep of emotion (which neither are you or your makin) & come hopefully to understanding the flecks of dirt spinning round & round in the wane of the day’s light & the flecks of thought spinning same in your mind aren’t tempest, nor harbinger, nor augur but only life being life & never more.

sit stolid the night, feel the cold & watch for the wolves who’re sure to come. think no more for the day gone, her softness, nor anything more than the wearing of your flesh & beating of your heart.