The Sky Is The Darkest After The Storm

from "Geometries of Sounds in Time," Peter Westergaard


XXVIII
Is it hubris that makes us want to place
ourselves outside of time, out there with God?
But any pitch-time map we draw in space
does that. When we read music, we don't plod
our way through note by note. We grasp a measure
at a glance, but not, alas, whole pieces.
A little lower than the angels, we're
more like some one-dimensional worm whose pleasure,
as it eats its way through time, increases
with self-knowledge. Its now (it calls it "here")
is any of several points along its gut.
Its present--what it lives for--the whole stretch.
It wants to savor longer stretches, but
it can't. So in its mind's gut it makes a sketch
of how three stretches might be thought of in terms
of one. (Time worms are awfully clever worms.)

bleeding hearts

At the cry of the first bird
They began to crucify Thee, O Swan!
Never shall lament cease because of that.
It was like the parting of day from night.
Ah, sore was the suff'ring borne
By the body of Mary's Son,
But sorer still to Him was the grief
Which for His sake
Came upon His Mother.


"The Crucifixion"
set by Samuel Barber
text from The Speckled Book, 12th century
translated by Howard Mumford Jones

A Dream
We looked out the bedroom window into the night sky. Sudden explosions of light appeared. We both thought they were beautiful; there were no words. The light bursts continued across the sky and drew nearer and nearer. We watched in awe until the black silhouettes of helicopters appeared. Then we were scared.

a useful and reassuring tautology:

you are on the way to where you are going.