Remains

I remember wanting to somehow become a
 split-second saint sacrificing myself to save all those who I love and all those who I profess to love with the gentle gracefulness of a floating rippled nimbus cloud.

Budweiser and Yahoo and Panasonic and other words confront me, taunt me, haunt my imagination with a directness, with a shadiness expected yet foreign.

Everything remains noisy, crowded. So much is seen yet unseen.



Open in the window, open in the window.

Remember Freshman Year and the Whiskey Rebellion, remember the Quakers and that story about the Battle of Fallen Timbers.

We relate, somehow we wait.