These are the facts, nothing here but the facts. I was on the road to Damascus via a street in the West Village in New York City, when, in an instant, barometric pressure had dropped 100 MB. Darkness enveloped an eleven-o’clock-morning sun. It may have been a trick of the mind, or some kind of serious panic disorder. Although I could no longer see, I pictured myself a child on a visit to my great grandmother's house in La Salle, Illinois. In my head I felt as though a tornado was approaching...
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LOVE STORY, At the Hardware Store Dad! Try as hard as I can, I won’t be able to finish the inventory. Count up the boxes of bolts and screws. List them according to head type, Length, and numbered thickness. Then double check the tally. At this point I just don't have the wherewithal. How could I possibly enter all those details. Just one look at the lines and columns confuses me! Plus, exacting cost price and summing page totals, Running entries from bookkeeping sheet to sheet, Those kinds of computations demand a clear head. My mind's a mess. I'm sick. The accountant will have to wait. Let's hope I feel better.
Blame Aphrodite, Soft as she is She has almost Killed me with Love for that girl.
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ETTA, 1958 He had twisted his ankle. His foot was swollen and it ached, Hurt him to the degree that he could no longer concentrate. He had lost the capacity to figure. His mind no longer able to grasp even very simple things, His eyes appeared vacant, as if in a trance. He was young and he kissed the back of her hand, He kissed her about the face, He kissed her eyelids, And he rested his lips at the base of her neck. He had kissed the skin all-over both her shoulders. He and she were minors, and their ardency, Its possible consequence worried their parents. There was no question about the boy being strong. Within the warmth of a late August, summer night, The couple walked hand in hand along a dirt path. They followed a trail along side truck-farm fields, Alternate tracts of cabbage and corn, Which then became a shortcut, A line through an expanse of crabgrass scrub. The land rose a few inches, Slightly above the counter-sunk, worn-earth channel, Suggesting a beaten path, a safe passage, Perhaps once a native American footway, Of an age older than most would dream. They headed toward an old Dutch Elm. The tree grew beside the muddy bank of a creek, Whose occasional flow emptied west into a river, A river the early French settlers had named Des Plaines. They thought that they might sail away upon the waters. The Milky Way seemed to stretch out across The vault of deep space more like some Will-o-wisp patch of terrestrial weather Than the starry edge of our own galaxy. Yet more, much more than the taste of salt -- The tiny sweat above her brows, more than how Moisture had collected and now had formed Fetchingly to glisten upon her shoulders, It was a night whose such awesome, absolute clarity Enhanced a once-in-a-life-time, white light streak. At its end a mighty, bright flash erased the sky. Though now near midnight, all nature cast a quick shadow. The day's heat permeated the late summer evening. They were standing before the great Dutch Elm, The tree beside the muddy bank of the creek, The small, occasional water emptying west into the river, The river the early French settlers had named Des Plaines. In a momentary all-over illumination, The youths saw their silhouette. They were merged as one. They saw themselves fused into a single shade. A snap of thunder followed, and, there, in the instant, All of heavenly influence fell upon their embrace.
And when they turned and gazed upon each other, Before either of them spoke a word, They had come to believe that In a book all their days had been written. The verse which enfolds telling of this one moment Had already been composed. Though still no gathering of the waters into the seas, Prior to Earth's becoming the name for dry land, Likewise before the glory of first morning or first sun's set, Even before the beginning when the Spirit of God Announced light and illuminated the darkness, They had been granted affection. Before the beginning, Before the Lord brought into being The blazing brilliance across the infinite deep, And called it good, They had been blessed with ever grateful remembrance. This one moment had already been written.
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LET ME TELL YOU TRUE As you must already know, I am quite over you. I barely think of you more than twenty times a day. Though I must confess that today, When I went all about town in what had been Just an incredibly gorgeous day – 89 degrees Fahrenheit, Dry, even very dry, and absolutely sunny With a ten mile-per-hour steady breeze -- My thoughts of you had crossed my mind At more than twice the usual number-rate. Seems every great weather day reminds me of you. Otherwise I am fine and my recovery progresses. OK! I am not going to blame you for it. I feel that I am congenitally distracted. On Monday, now that was two days ago, It rained and rained, the entire day was hot and stuffy. Still my heart ran to you, I counted, Ninety-two sparate times. Then later during the selfsame day I stepped into a puddle. I dropped my umbrella, and soak and wet, I became distracted, so wasn't it better, Certainly more rigorously honest, That I should start my addition all over. Thus by bedtime, I had the new number, thirty-three, Which, of course, must be added to my first subtotal. I'm sure that you can compute my arithmetic here. In my own defense -- you no doubt recall -- Low barometric pressure has always had a bad effect on me. All right, let's get real! If we average out my daily count, Say over the last 365 days, One thing is abundantly clear, no mistake about it, I no longer spend my days just thinking of you. And let me tell you true, my thoughts turn to you No more than thirty-six times a day.
