New Year, come.
We can yet rejoice.
But for the old,
some dusting some.
Truth transient and goodness gone, of this world will not suffice, not again complicit, seduced or seducing. Now--beauty in mine eyes, this horizon; a definitive step, a worthy journey. Not this one's pimp, or that one's whore.
While others are left to theirs and uses, I will immerse in the colors and textures of what I see and can describe, in some lost corner, or in concert with truth and goodness that would be, and more.
New Year's, rejoice.
We're not yet old.
I will find my love,
and embrace her voice.
Goddesses not gods beauty is. And trinities but for the holy and the gifted. Choosing above the rest is worthy much (and yet not yet all outlawed). We can have abundant if limited and partial joy.
Before our silent fall, before the majesty that we can conceive. And conceive we must, if not realize, or we will surely die. So, New Year, come and let us rejoice--no need but want, no longer coy.
December 31, 2005
PS I have decided to return to living outside of the US to find and follow my muse, come what may. It is about time, and getting late.
