Friday, February 05, 2010

Clear Water

Dreamed of clear water running over green grass again: a dream of the purity of cold streams, running impossibly on clifftops, soaking my shoes; the drowned grass glowing like fire in the pulse of the sunlight. I've been here before: this is Jenny's poem for the Spring, but can I write it?

Tosi's. Headlights on Sandy Boulevard and on 62nd Avenue. The amber lights of the bus flashing as people climb on board. The red and green of the traffic lights. Behind all that, the morning slowly gathering, a power of light to make all these laughable. But not yet. Ahriman still keeps his trembling grip, for a few more moments. He makes the lottery machines in the corner flash and buzz and yammer, hoping for another sacrifice or two before he drops, helpless and resentful, for another day of prowling in basement apartments, lurking in cheap computers and writhing in dvd players, spitting bits of green and red and amber from warning lights and control panels. The daytime is always hard for him: but the daytime conquests are the most complete, his proudest trophies. I used to walk by the taverns in Spokane, doing a brisk business at 7:00 a.m., their doors open to let some of the stale, stale air stumble out onto the sidewalk, and think: now there's victory. Who says the Devil has nothing to show for all his work?

Even as I write the light grows more and more, the blue-gray light of dawn rising from the wet streets, reflecting back and forth from the wet clouds above, gleaming blue even from the dark wood windowsills. Streetlights discretely vanish. Across the street the headlights of a pickup at Ken's automotive wink out. Ahriman glares, panics, and disappears. Daylight. The light has gone silver. Everything white glows: light is resonating everywhere, spilling from everything with a soft prodigality far beyond Ahriman's imagination. Bedridden people lift their hands to twitch aside the curtains and let the light fall on their faces. Children stir in their beds. Dogs wake suddenly. A single crow flies across the sky.

No nearer to a solution than ever. When you don't know what to do, stop doing. Watch and listen instead. Easier said than done, but I'll try.

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