Dreamy Coy at the Lightner Museum

Dreamy Coy in Cool Water at the Lightner Museum

Those coy make me so calm. Just walk over the tiny bridge and look down. So many. Some look like Chinese paintings. Some are flaming red. Some are bright yellow. Some huge. Some small. Some beg for food. Looking into the cool blue. Witnessing the fluidity and winding movement through water. It puts my center right back to where it's supposed to be and fills me with the love of God.

Part of Me. Part of my Apartment.

Poem: "Mother Night" by Jim Harrison from Saving Daylight. © Copper Canyon Press, 2007. Reprinted with permission. (buy now)

Mother Night
When you wake at three AM you don't think
of your age or sex and rarely your name
or the plot of your life which has never
broken itself down into logical pieces.
At three AM you have the gift of incomprehension
wherein the galaxies make more sense
than your job or the government. Jesus at the well
with Mary Magdalene is much more vivid
than your car. You can clearly see the bear
climb to heaven on a golden rope in the children's
story no one ever wrote. Your childhood horse
named June still stomps the ground for an apple.
What is morning and what if it doesn't arrive?
One morning Mother dropped an egg and asked
me if God was the same species as we are?
Smear of light at five AM. Sound of Webber's
sheep flock and sandhill cranes across the road,
burble of irrigation ditch beneath my window.
She said, "Only lunatics save newspapers
and magazines," fried me two eggs, then said,
"If you want to understand mortality look at birds."
Blue moon, two full moons this month,
which I conclude are two full moons. In what
direction do the dead fly off the earth? Rising sun. A thousand blackbirds pronounce day.

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