28 June 2014

My Rain Harper

When the name ‘Rain Harp’ first came to me, I thought of my friend B’ee. He not only plays real harps, he also makes them. He lives in Germany most of the time now, and I rarely see him, but he was just in town. We went for a walk today, prior to his leaving. I gave him a small Rain Harp, and we caught up with each other’s lives. I hadn’t seen him since February 2013, and so much has happened since then. On my part, the news is seemingly entirely sad, and yet that cannot be, because if B’ee is still my friend, the world is good.

He won’t mind if I share a little more about who he is:
Birch Book
In Gowan Ring

27 June 2014

22

Written New Spring Leaves

Unfold these fine little fans—made by fingers so small, they’re still lovingly half-trapped within.
Wonder at length at the knowledge they hold fast within them, the mind in and over their skin,
the fierce tiny veins pushing upstream the very particular life-force their future requires,
and—much more than all of this—love yet to come, although we will mark it with funeral fires.
Tomorrow, my love, will not dawn. Please don’t brace for it; maybe it’s life’s own last breath, maybe not;
it cannot be known like a lowered red curtain, but neither of us was enamoured with thought
over spirited music, and neither would give over singing to hear a dull sermon preached flat.
I’m quite alone for the moment, but even if I were in heaven—I’d leave even that—
open, you know, it will always—but always—fly open—and there you will be, hat in hand.
My door’s a little but colorful bit of wild paper, fine-folded, brought out from a land
I wanted to see in my dreams because someone I loved and who loved me lived there, and I did.
Now I shall fall asleep, maybe forever, but not till I’ve done something sense might forbid,
but love more than anything else wants to consecrate—that’s what I know, and you well know it too.
Small little fans made of air—lovely weather—and songs written there where they first formed and grew.