Saturday, January 17, 2009

By only beginning and always beginning I refute the way it turns out for me.

Lucian Freud-Double Portrait (British 1988)

I'm escorted by a simple idea.
I say "each day" when I refer to that moment  

I feed the dog.
Each day.

In taking imparticular comfort in my actions
I've already begun to regret the disruption

It is difficult to imagine our not being as we are
And loss and loss decades in the act of preparation.

I know.

I cut a soft-cooked egg into a lump of wet grain
With the back of a spoon,
And her head hovers above the imaginary bowl I think of.
Like if steam constituted an answer:

If I were her this is how I would begin.

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