It is hard going to the door

cut so small in the wall where

the vision which echoes loneliness

brings a scent of wild flowers in a wood.

What I understood, I understand.

My mind is sometime torment,

sometimes good and filled with livelihood,

and feels the ground.

But I see the door,

and knew the wall, and wanted the wood,

and would get there if I could

with my feet and hands and mind.

Lady, do not banish me

for digressions. My nature

is a quagmire of unresolved

confessions. Lady, I follow.

I walked away from myself,

I left the room, I found the garden,

I knew the woman

in it, together we lay down.

Dead night remembers. In December

we change, not multiplied but dispersed,

sneaked out of childhood,

the ritual of dismemberment.

Mighty magic is a mother,

in her there is another issue

of fixture, repeated form, the race renewal,

the charge of the command.

The garden echoes across the room.

It is fixed in the wall like a mirror

that faces a window behind you

and reflects the shadows.

May I go now?

Am I allowed to bow myself down

in the ridiculous posture of renewal,

of the insistence of which I am the virtue?

Nothing for You is untoward.

Inside You would also be tall,

more tall, more beautiful.

Come toward me from the wall, I want to be with You.

So I screamed to You,

who hears as the wind, and changes

multiply, invariably,

changes in the mind.

Running to the door, I ran down

as a clock runs down. Walked backwards,

stumbled, sat down

hard on the floor near the wall.

Where were You.

How absurd, how vicious.

There is nothing to do but get up.

My knees were iron, I rusted in worship, of You.

For that one sings, one

writes the spring poem, one goes on walking.

The Lady has always moved to the next town

and you stumble on after Her.

The door in the wall leads to the garden

where in the sunlight sit

the Graces in long Victorian dresses,

of which my grandmother had spoken.

History sings in their faces.

They are young, they are obtainable,

and you follow after them also

in the service of God and Truth.

But the Lady is indefinable,

she will be the door in the wall

to the garden in sunlight.

I will go on talking forever.

I will never get there.

Oh Lady, remember me

who in Your service grows older

not wiser, no more than before.

How can I die alone.

Where will I be then who am now alone,

what groans so pathetically

in this room where I am alone?

I will go to the garden.

I will be a romantic. I will sell

myself in hell,

in heaven also I will be.

In my mind I see the door,

I see the sunlight before me across the floor

beckon to me, as the Lady’s skirt

moves small beyond it.

---------


Good lord. Good lord Robert. What a wonderful, one-eyed man you were.
I wish you could have lived forever.



INDIANA- June, 18th. Can't wait for Kylie's wedding. Praying for an open bar. My dress is too long. Need to hem it or just wear REALLY high heels. Guh. Also I need to even out my tan before then. Because, due to hikes, right now, its kinda weird. Not gonna lie.


I went camping up in the Inyo mountains a few weeks back with my Field Bio class. One of the greatest experiences of life so far. So beautiful. Mountains are some of the most majestic geographical formations on earth. I got hunks of Obsidian and Basalt. I did a mini poetry reading for some of my classmates. Lots of Weezer was sung around the camp fire and we drank whiskey all night long.



Ian and I got an apartment in Orange, CA. Its in the oldest house in the town, from the late 1800s.



I'm positive its haunted. We're going to burn a lot of sage before we move in to get rid of any negative vibes.






its so tiny!

--

I wish I could write more fluidly these days. My thoughts are stumped...
?

I'm making a sweet book right now.
I will post pictures after it crits.
Its about my house plants.

There are two baby parots in the dining room right now and I never want them to grow up.
They are dinos. I swear. I love them.